


Mr. Pain [2.0]

by mitternacht



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Hints of Oliver/Richard, Hints of Paul/Flake, Hints of Till/Oliver, M/M, Piercings, Pre-Rammstein, Recreational Drug Use, S&M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4667747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitternacht/pseuds/mitternacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-----Chapter 3 is entirely new, that's the update.------</p><p>“I come down here, you put me in a collar and now you’re telling me to take off my clothes,” Oliver muttered. “I don’t even know your name,” he added petulantly.<br/>“Till. Now take off your shirt,” he said, huffing impatiently.</p><p>Oliver meets a mysterious man on the train and ends up in an S&M bar. Just his luck.<br/>(the reboot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The KitKatClub

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the early/mid 90s, pre-Rammstein era. My first Rammstein fic and first I've posted (that I intend to finish). Tattoo shop AU.
> 
> *Before this fic goes any further, I decided to go back and rewrite & edit some (but not all) of the fic. This was intended to be a lot shorter and the fic just got away from me. It's been bothering me for about five chapters and I just can't deal with it any longer so here it is. I'll leave up the original chapters for now and a few will remain as they are, but it's a little different in style.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *originally posted 8/27/15

                 On a wet spring-summer's night in Berlin, there was a tall blond; not too lean, not too muscular, walking through the streets of the Viktoriapark gardens. Bleached hair buzzed short and close to his scalp often gave those the wrong impression of an unpleasant person. Quite the opposite in fact, as Oliver Riedel was one of the kindest folk punk bassists this side of the Rhine. Not many could boast such a title, like some of the other characters who will later introduce themselves.

  
                 As a folk punk bassist in Berlin, he had serious folk punk business to attend to. The cool rain scent lingered in the air as he made his way down the stoned pathways he knew by heart. The damp air mixed with the light of the approaching dusk was his favorite part of this particular night, he found as strolled through the area. Birds were chirping and fluttering throughout, occassionally crossing his path now and again. They were particularly loud that evening as Oliver could hear them over his headphones. He noted small sparrows and warblers flitting about the trees lining the walkway. He often found himself distracted by the nature surrounding him throughout his travels and was being particularly careful today as to not to get distracted from his serious folk punk business.

                 The very serious and important folk punk business was going to get a piercing of course. Although he supposed it was more on the punk side of things.

                 In actuality, his punk business was starting to err on the side of industrial nightclubber business but that was all really Sven's fault. At least, that's what he told himself. Lately he had been spending his nights in the city, working and living and frequenting S&M bars as one does. Once someone threw on a Front 242 record at the bar, he was swaying and dancing with the leather and latex-clad crowd to the metallic beats pumping from the speakers. He came to know Sven through the concrete and neon of the nightlife district housed in abandoned factories, an increasingly common fixture throughout the landscape of early nineties Berlin.

                 His friend Sven, sometimes Zven, sometimes Scholle, and occassionally 'The Mop', was quite an interesting character to say the least. During the day, he was an everyday citizen; working as a cashier at a bottle till, at night …well that was a different story. Oliver met him in a crowded subway car on his way to his "other" job, sporting a silver spiked collar to match the heavy hoops that hung from his ears.

                 “That’s an interesting necklace,” Oliver blurted out, immediately self-conscious as he met his gaze.

                 The other man let out a genuine laugh and a pleasant warmth spread over Oliver. “Ah, I almost forgot I was wearing it,” he chuckled, tugging gently to make sure it was centered. Oliver caught a glimpse of perfectly manicured black fingernails as he did so. He smiled at Oliver, curiously looking the taller man over as he smoothed back his own silvery-blond hair.

                 He rummaged around in his pocket for a moment before producing a small black and red business card. “If you aren’t busy, you should stop by sometime this week,” he murmured, passing it to Oliver. The train slowed to a stop before the pneumatic doors hissed open. Watch your step, the automated voice warned as the man made his way through the crowd of people entering and exiting the train car. He winked at Oliver before disappearing into the throng of commuters. Oliver stood dumbstruck for a moment, then looked down at the seemingly nondescript card between his fingers.

 

 _KitKatClub_  
_Gloglauer Straße_  
_Parties für zivilisierte Leute_

 

                 He turned the card over for some sort of explanation but the only information it offered was “Herr Sven”. He pocketed the card, briefly contemplating what sort of place it could be. There was no phone number, simply the address which was not too far from the current subway stop.

                 At this point in the story, it would almost be safe to assume that Herr Sven was a piercer correct? Wrong. Not with a business card that boasted civilized parties. Niggling curiosity spurred him to find out more about the club, but the most he could gather was that it was merely a nightclub. His usual nights consisted of endless beer after a gig at someone's house, which suited him just fine... but Scholle's collar intrigued him. After a few nights of the card glaring at him, (yes, glaring, it was almost entirely black and sort of ominous looking) from its place of residence on Oliver's kitchen counter, Oliver huffed at it. He finally relented about two hours before midnight Saturday evening, dragging himself into his bedroom to change into something suitable.

                 Civilized, the card read.

                 He frowned at his selection of clothes, knowing he had little other than paint-stained jeans, ripped overalls, and old t-shirts. He did own one suit, which he had owned since school so naturally the entire thing was about two inches short of where it was supposed to fall. He frowned at the suit and it frowned back, judging him for not buying a better-fitting one sooner. Digging through his drawers only yielded slightly more positive results; a slim-fitting t-shirt that clung to him just right and cargo pants, both in black. It would be easier to pass off something black as presentable in the dim lighting of the club. He glanced at the business card again, hoping he had dressed properly.

                 The walk to the club was uneventful but he did get his first hints of what the club's patrons looked like from a few blocks away. A couple drunkenly whirling and giggling their way down the street, kept stopping every few seconds to press each other against the buildings and make out. The taller of the two was covered from head-to-toe in the shiniest black latex he had ever seen, glinting every time they passed under a streetlight. Complete with gimp mask and leash, the other person let themselves be led down the block by the trusty latex suited individual. The shorter of the two, clearly drunk and possibly wearing heels for the first time, was stumbling a few feet behind after they broke apart. Clearly dazed, they paid no attention to the wig that clung to dear life to their scalp nor the red sequined dress that kept riding above their thigh as they ran along. It was the drunk leading the (even) drunk(er) through the night in search of the next party.

                 Not long after, a hazy red neon sign came into view a few blocks away. Matches the business card, he thought to himself. Very classy, it must actually be civilized, were his exact thoughts without a trace of sarcasm. In he had that same thought in ten minutes, it would have been the most sarcastic thing he had ever said. He readied his license, in the off chance that someone questioned his age. His features were had recently grown more angular now that he was no longer a teenager. Being over two meters tall tended to help with that sort of thing as well.

                 The unmistakable thump of bass rattled through the nearby brick factory building, totally non-descript amidst the back streets of Berlin aside from the actual 'KitKat' sign. He had half expected to see the neon outline of a pussycat caricature somewhere but then remembered; civilized. That was before he had a cigarette. He noticed a few people huddled around and chattering amongst themselves sharing a smoke and pulled out his own pack, hoping to dispel his nerves.

                 As he held his hand up as a makeshift shield to prevent the flame of the lighter from being snuffed out by the wind, an extremely burly man exited the club, stopping a few feet away from him. “You got an extra smoke?” he asked, in a voice much quieter than he expected. The man looked as if he could easily body slam him through a wall if he said no but his voice was a total contradiction. But Oliver himself was not one to talk; he could look just as imposing but hardly spoke above a murmur.

                 The other man looked like a bodybuilder, tall and menacing, though not nearly as tall as Oliver. A fishnet shirt was stretched across his broad chest and Oliver idly wondered how deep the indentations in his skin would be if he could ever manage to get it back over his head. He wore a collar, almost identical to the one Sven had worn, although he was about twice the size of him. Absentmindedly, Oliver retrieved the carton from his pocket, extracted a cigarette, and passed it to the man.

                 “Vielen dank,” he said, sighing in relief as he lit the cigarette. “I left mine at home unfortunately, brand new pack too.”

                 Oliver made a sound of disappointment as he took a long drag. They smoked in comfortable silence for a few minutes until the man spoke again.

                 “Have you been here before?” he asked, subtly glancing at Oliver’s outfit.

                 “Nein, my-” he hesitated, unsure of what to call 'Herr Sven' especially when it came to casual conversation with a stranger. “Uh my friend works here and he wanted me to come visit him,” he finished, hoping the stranger wouldn’t mention his obvious hesitation. “Warum? Is my outfit not enough?” Oliver added, glancing down and wishing he had at least worn a button-up shirt. He brushed a hand over any stray lint or dirt that might have found its way onto his jeans from the walk there.

                 “Nein!" The man nearly choked on his cigarette, spluttering noxious clouds. After he recovered from his minor coughing fit, he began chuckling. "Oh I would say you’re overdressed,” he said with a hint of mirth.

                 Now Oliver was confused. The card said ‘civilized people’; which meant sort of dress code was enforced at the club. Right?

                 Fishnet Shirt fixed his cigarette between his teeth, reached behind his neck, and unhooked his collar. “This might sound strange but you’ll probably need this,” he said cautiously, watching Oliver’s face as he held it out.

                 Now it was Oliver’s turn to laugh. “What for?” He stopped mid-laugh before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh.” This was not the kind of club he was expecting. Shit. He was about to walk into some sort of fetish club to meet up with a guy who worked there. Oliver paled when he realized that Sven’s profession was still unknown. He eyed the collar nervously before taking it in in his hands, curiosity overriding any other feelings.

                 “It’s my boyfriend’s but I’m sure he won’t mind if you used it,” he told Oliver as he took the collar.

                 “Will I really have to wear this?” Oliver asked, glancing down at the soft leather between his fingers. He was half horrified, half mystified at the thought of actually wearing something like that in public. Sven had worn one seemingly without any second thoughts which made him wonder exactly what it was that he did; especially for him to be so comfortable in it. He felt his face grow hot as he contemplated putting it on. He had been curious about sadomasochism but it was never more than a passing interest. He ran his fingers over the heavy silver buckle, wondering how it would feel against his skin.

                 “No need to be shy,” the stranger murmured. “Believe me when I say this isn’t the place to act coy,” he continued, with a smile that implied he knew much more than he let on.

                 Oliver shifted the collar in his hand, examining it once more before deciding. His thought process is summed up as follows;

_Maybe I shouldn’t._

_..._

_..._

_You know what, fuck it._

                 He lifted it up, positioning it on his neck before tightening the buckle. He pulled experimentally, checking to see which perforation was most comfortable. After he had secured it, he looked at the other man expectantly. “Do I pass?” he asked with his arms held out for a mock inspection.

                 His gaze swept over Oliver before he spoke up again. “I hope so.”

                 Fishnet Shirt crushed the butt of his cigarette beneath his foot before setting off with Oliver for the entrance of the club. Two people stood there chatting leisurely; the first, a bouncer who was a few centimeters shorter than Oliver, but much more broad and muscular, and the second, a petite woman with glasses. Surely, she couldn’t have been of any assistance to the bouncer. As Oliver approached with his new friend, she stopped talking to the bouncer and turned her impassive gaze to them.

                 She was wearing a black latex bra, a dangerously short pleated skirt, and heavy spiked platform boots. She raised a pierced eyebrow and said, “Are you boys looking to come in?” They nodded but before either of them could say anything she spoke again. “No.” She turned back to the bouncer to continue her conversation.

                 Oliver looked dumbfounded. He was surely old enough to be there. He opened his mouth to ask her if she wanted to his identification but the other man pulled him a few feet away. “Let me see if I can figure something out okay?”

                 He strode over to the woman again, murmuring a few questions but he was just out of earshot so it was indistinguishable. She nodded and smirked, glancing at Oliver as he talked to her.

                 “Take off your shirt,” he said as he returned to where Oliver stood.

                 “What?” he asked incredulously.

                 “Your shirt,” he replied, clearly at ease with this request.

                 “But why?"

                 “Clearly this is your first time here,” he sighed. “Listen, I asked her to help out a friend. She’s willing to do us a favor since my boyfriend, Richard, works here too. But you’ve got to at least try to follow the dress code. She’ll let it slide for now but the shirt has to go.”

                 Oliver blushed. “Is this really the only way?”

                 “Yes, now come on. I’ve convinced her to let you in, just this once."

                 “I come down here, you put me in a collar and now you’re telling me to take off my clothes,” Oliver muttered. “I don’t even know your name,” he added petulantly.  
“Till. Now take off your shirt,” he said, huffing impatiently.

                 Oliver glanced around, checking to see if anyone was watching him and pulled his shirt over his head. He folded his shirt tightly before stowing it in his pocket. He felt anxious, having no idea what he was getting himself into. They approached the bouncer again, this time being waved through by the woman.

                 "Much better," she said approvingly as they passed, directing a wink at Oliver. He blushed as he ducked through the door and they entered the dimly lit lobby. There were a few plush-looking chairs and some were occupied. He noticed one couple was making out, the man's hand creeping towards her skirt. He averted his eyes immediately, not wanting to participate in some sort of voyeur fantasy.

                 The latex suited man made his way past them, this time being dragged by the other person into the club. A horrifying thought crossed his mind. He had no idea if there was even a such thing as typical collar etiquette, but he was wearing someone else's collar. Did that make him submissive? _I don't want to be someone's bitch_ , he thought to himself. panicking slightly, as he wondered if Till had other plans in mind for him. Although the outfit he was wearing turned a grand total of two heads, he couldn't help but feel everyone's eyes were on him.

  
                 He followed Till into the club, momentarily blinded by the strobe lights flashing. The music was about three times louder than it sounded at the door. As they made their way in, they were met with a wave of stifling heat, generated by the dancing crowd.

                 "Richard's around somewhere," Till called over his shoulder. "He can probably help you find your friend. I'm not familiar with too many of the people who work here. What's your name again?"

                 "Okay good. I'm Oliver," he yelled back in response, making sure his voice could be heard over the music. His relief was tangible as he realized that the collar was simply just a decoration lended to him by Till, instead of some sort of strange initiation. He gazed at the crowd, surprised by what he saw. Everyone in the club was dressed in some variation of fetish clothing, ranging from simple outfits of mesh or latex to more outrageous costumes. He was so caught up in the extravagant scene before him, he hardly noticed that Till left.

                 The club definitely was not what he expected, to say the least. He realized that even without his shirt, at least a third of the club's patrons were much more naked than he was. Towards the front, a woman with hair teased insanely high strode onstage in a heavy velvet robe. The music changed tempo and she dropped the robe, tossing it away with a flourish. She was stunning, tanned skin covered in oil and her eyes were an unnatural shade of sapphire blue. He watched her dancing sensually in a chain-mail bikini but that was not the most bizarre part of her performance. A python slithered along behind her and she picked it up, holding it high above her head. An audible gasp was heard as approached the crowd.

                 "Crazy huh?" Till asked. Oliver nearly jumped when he heard Till's voice. "She's wonderful, it's always fun to watch her shows. I think she's usually at Prinzenbar though. Beer?" he asked, offering one of the three beers he held to Oliver.

                 "Yeah, thanks," he said, grateful to have something cold to drink. "This place is wild," he said before taking a swig and turning back to watch the snake woman.

                 "Oliver," a familiar voice yelled.

                 That's right, it was (none other than) _The_ Mop Kruspe.

                 "You like it here? I knew you would!" He turned back around to see Sven standing in front of him.

                 He kissed Till on the cheek before slinging an arm around his waist and accepting a beer. Till smiled bashfully as he said, "this is Richard."

                 Oliver's eyes widened in surprise. “So you do work here?”

                 "I take it you two know each other already though. I thought this was your first time here?" Till asked Oliver.

                 Sven, or Richard, smiled at Till before explaining. "Yeah we met on the train. He complimented my collar and I figured why not invite him here? We always welcome newcomers," he said, directing the last sentence towards Oliver. "He looks almost as good as I do in that collar, don't you think?"

                 Till laughed as Oliver blushed again, realizing he was wearing Sven's collar. "Oh! Do you want it back? I'm so sorry," he stammered quickly as he reached to take it off.

                 "No no, it's quite all right. Keep it, I've got plenty of them," he insisted, flashing a mischievous smile at Till. Till snickered and Oliver decided it was best not to ask.

                 "What do you think?" Richard asked, gesturing at the stage.

                 "She's wonderful," Oliver exclaimed immediately, his mouth opening before he even had a chance to think about it. He tried not to sound too eager, but curiosity got the best of him as he said, "it's, um, really interesting."

                 At that moment, she seized a blond from the crowd, flicking her pierced tongue at him. The man looked both flustered and excited, anticipation obvious in his eyes. She shoved him back down in the chair while maintaining eye contact and picked up a nearby bottle of tequila. She pushed his mouth open with her foot gently before inserting her toes. The man looked nervous but didn't flinch, although he looked like he was new to the club as well. A man next to him cheered her on as she let the liquor pour down her leg and into his mouth. Oliver was dumbfounded. He couldn't look away, that was, until Richard spoke again.

                 Richard smiled broadly. "Great, I'll tell her to come over after she's done then!"

                 Oliver tore his eyes from the blond with liquor dribbling down his chin in shock. "What no, oh no no," he nearly shouted as he whipped around to face the other two.  
Richard burst out into laughter, hardly containing his guffaw. "I'm kidding! Oh I wish you saw your face though, I'm sorry. I wouldn't do that to you." At least not yet, was the implied afterthought.

                 Oliver laughed nervously, thinking about how he would handle something like that. He turned back to watch her again, somewhat lost in thought. He could get used to a place like this, he thought to himself. It was really quite intriguing to see the power dynamics switched around and played with. He wanted to learn more about the spectacle he was witnessing tonight and the scene they were a part of.

                 This woman clearly was in control of her audience; they were practically salivating at her appearance alone. She stood before them wearing practically nothing, which could be considered an invitation to touch, but her gaze alone commanded them to only look. She decided the terms of what happened here; it could go no further than she willed it to. The python was an added bonus, giving the scene an otherworldly feel. She was portraying herself as a voodoo priestess, no, a queen; ruling over everyone as she worked her magic.

                 She was totally in control and he had to admit that it was ...hot.

                 Richard clasped a hand on his shoulder and murmured, "she'll go easy on you if you ask nicely." Oliver suppressed a shudder, tempted by the idea momentarily before laughing it off. Sven was much more attentive than he thought.

                 "What do you do here?" Oliver asked, hoping to change the subject.

                 Richard flashed a wicked grin before casually telling him, "some s&m work, a little bondage here and there, and occasional bartending."

                 At this point, Oliver simply nodded, nothing should have been a surprise in a club like this. His mind flickered briefly to Richard in the same position, dancing on display but the visual didn't suit him. Richard was muscular with his hair cropped short and close, broad shouldered yet soft and welcoming. Instead, he imagined Richard holding thick, rough ropes tying knots and fastening cuffs into place. Sly, seductive smiles following yelps of pleasure and pain, silver and leather pressing against skin, and being pinned under--

                 "Oliver?" Richard's voice broke his train of thought.

                 "I- I'd like another beer," he stammered, setting off for the bar quickly.

                 "I think he likes it here!" Richard exclaimed. Till laughed again, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

                 After a few (read: at least five) more drinks, Richard pulled a less inhibited, but significantly more drunk Oliver onto the dance floor. Drunken Oliver usually meant the more flirtatious side of his personality showed up and that night was no exception. He danced with the same (possibly) woman he saw running to KitKat sans collared friend, a man in a better fitting fishnet shirt (than Till's) who hailed from France, and Richard.

                 His new-found friend snagged him right after he knocked back his fourth drink and found himself oddly entranced by the blond. Even though the man was nearly a foot shorter than he was, they found their rhythm fairly quickly. Richard wasn't what came to mind when someone said 'S&M'. Although he was definitely broad and muscular, he seemed to have a certain softness about him. He struck Oliver as almost submissive and from the looks of it, Till was probably the more dominant one of the relationship. Everything about Richard appealed to him from his soft, scratchy laughter to the way he swayed his hips while he danced. He liked Richard, but not in the traditional sense of affection. Oliver wouldn't even dream about ruining someone's relationship, whether they were dating or even just getting to know each other.

                 Richard drew him in, made him curious about what happened behind the scenes at KitKat. He was intrigued, wanting to know what other work the other man specialized in besides bartending.

                 Although he seemed soft, subtle and shy was not a part of his demeanor. He was full of charisma, knowing how to work a room and draw people in like moths to flame (but really any insect works with that metaphor, doesn't it?) He had undoubtedly drawn Oliver in, flashing his trademark winning smile and practically charming the pants off Oliver.

                 Anyone who knew Oliver Riedel knew that it took about four strong drinks for him to start flirting and he was about two and a half drinks past that. He was subtle, much in the way that pulling up to your grandmother's house playing an Anthrax album at full blast at 2AM to announce your arrival would be. 'Roaming hands' were a chronic problem with a less than sober Oliver, one that would afflict him throughout the rest of the time he danced with Richard. It wasn't on purpose, and surely Till didn't seem to mind, but Oliver was a very friendly drunk.

                 In some strange way the three clicked, and Oliver ended up returning to the KitKat and eventually worked his way to Prinzenbar and other clubs. Richard had piqued Oliver's interest, and even managed to talk Oliver into expanding his collar collection (although he would never admit it didn't take much persuading.) Till and Richard had given him a taste of the underground scene and he embraced it. Oliver had always been curious, but never really provided the opportunity to go further until then. Slowly but surely, bits of S&M wear started to make its way into his everyday clothing. While he refrained from going as far as wearing items like leather chaps and gimp masks, mesh and makeup became a part of his wardrobe.

                 Collars and harnesses were reserved for the club for the most part, he hadn't worked his way up to wearing bondage gear in public. Richard had suggested an idea to him while he was particularly drunk and found it persisted once he had sobered up. Something actually subtle, but more permanent than makeup, and less attention grabbing than daily bondage wear. That is; the punk business that brought him to his current destination. He strode a few steps further down the block, finally reaching the doors of Metall und Tinte; a combination tattoo parlor and piercing studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Parties für zivilisierte Leute = parties for civilized people. Metall und Tinte = metal and ink.  
> -The [KitKatClub](http://www.kitkatclub.org/Home/Index.html) [link may be NSFW] is a real place, established in 1994 and still exists today. During its early days, it was known for its strict dress codes and the fact that they allowed people to have sex in the club. [No lie.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/KitKatClub)  
> 


	2. Metall und Tinte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *originally posted 8/31/15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I looked at the other Olli/Doom fics on here ... and this is the only one with them as an exclusive pairing. We need more! *bangs fist on table*

                 A tuft of nearly platinum blond hair was bobbling around behind a desk as Oliver walked in. “Cause IIIII wanna beeee,” the hair yowled with a strange faux English accent as he approached the desk. “Anaaarrchyyy,” it finished, off key and proud.

                 “Hallo?” Oliver called, trying to bite back laughter.

                 Immediately the hair moved, more accurately; the man attached to the hair sprang up from behind the desk. “Ja, I’m here,” he answered somewhat muffled, holding a small container of tattoo ink in one hand and half a sandwich in the other. The other half was hanging between bared teeth in a valiant attempt to hold onto it. He placed the ink on the counter then used the free hand to tear the sandwich before chewing. His knuckles and hands were tattooed with various small symbols, although somewhat faded. “Oh,” he said in between mouthfuls, “you are not who I am looking for.” He was totally unfazed as he finished the half and grabbed a nearby can of soda. “Can I help you,” he asked, letting out a half-hearted belch after gulping down some.

                 Oliver glanced around the walls covered in tattoo flash art before turning his gaze back to the man in front of him. He was slight and about a foot shorter than Oliver. Silver gauges hung from his ears; two in one ear and a single hoop from the other. Blond hair stuck up in nearly every direction, giving him a slightly disheveled appearance as if he had rolled out of bed, sandwich and all. “I’m looking to get a piercing,” he said finally, deciding he would follow through with it.

                 “Then I am not who you are looking for either,” he announced, picking up the other half of the sandwich. “Our piercer should be back soon though. Doom’s having lunch. Somewhere. I think,” he said absentmindedly, grabbing a handful of the plastic ink containers before disappearing behind a door.

                 Behind the desk, another blond was deep in concentration as the buzz of a tattoo gun filled the air. He looked around for a second longer before taking a seat on the wooden bench against the wall and stretching his long legs. He peered over the desk, curious as to what the tattoo process was like. A couple of feet away, a man was lying face down on a cushioned chair of sorts with intricate black lines forming a pattern on his back. The tattoo artist paused momentarily and the shop went silent as he pushed up his glasses.

                 He was just as thin as the first blond, if not even leaner but his frame was a bit ganglier. His hair was jagged, each layer a different length than another. The needles steadily deposited ink and slender gloved fingers wiped away the excess every couple of seconds. He hardly spoke, only asking once if it was too painful when the man sharply gasped. Less than five minutes later, he put down the gun on a nearby table and removed his gloves. He discarded them in the trash along with a couple of paper towels that were dirty with smudged ink. “Go ahead and take a break, walk around for a bit ja,” he said to the client. The man nodded, stretching his shoulders to get rid of tension. “I’ll clean it off for you and then we can schedule your next session,” the artist said, tidying up his workstation.

                 Oliver watched him move about his area, cleaning the instruments methodically and pulling out post-tattoo prep supplies. The man suddenly spotted Oliver and he swore the strikingly ice blue eyes stared through him for a second. It was gone as soon as he blinked, as the man’s expression was totally unassuming when he looked again. He nodded briefly at Oliver before tending to the customer again. His hands moved quickly, each move practiced from the countless tattoos he had done. Within two minutes, the man was cleaned and safely bandaged, which was impressive for such a large-scale tattoo.

                 Oliver couldn't shake the feeling that the short, uneven blond hair looked familiar but didn't quite figure out why. He watched the tattoo artist for a few moments, hoping his brain would supply him with a name at the very least but found nothing.

                 The front door opened and another man, this time not blond, entered the shop. “You finished right on time Flake,” he said, quickly making his way behind the desk. He helped the newly tattooed man schedule another appointment before turning his attention to Oliver. “Are you being helped,” he asked politely.

                 Oliver couldn’t help but stare for a moment, unsure if he really wanted to go through with his idea. He finally spoke up after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m waiting for Doom?”

                 The only non-blonde in the shop looked a little taken aback. His immediate thoughts were, (unfortunately;) ' _I can be whatever you'd like._ ' Then he realized, that he was in fact Doom, and shook himself. Oliver didn't seem to notice the slight delay in the other man's response. “I see you’ve met Paul then,” he said, slight smile playing about his features. “That’s me but please just call me Schneider,” he said, rolling his eyes slightly. Of the three men that worked in the shop, the piercer looked the least likely to be called Doom. Schneider was more muscular than the other two and the tallest, hair smartly slicked back. He didn’t look like the typical employee of a tattoo studio as he bore no visible tattoos or even piercings, which seemed odd for someone who did it for a living. “What are you looking to get?”

                 “I uh, I don’t exactly know,” Oliver said with a smile, his tone unsure. “I think I want my ears done.”

                 “I can do that,” Schneider said, unable to stop himself from grinning from ear to ear. “You’re in luck, I’ve got no appointments for another hour.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and pen, beckoning for Oliver to come over. “Just fill out this paperwork and we can get started.”

                 Oliver stood and walked over to the desk, hand brushing against Schneider’s as he reached for the pen. “How much will it cost,” he asked, attempting to focus on the paper to hide his embarrassment. After a few silent seconds, Oliver looked up to find Doom staring at him blankly.

                 "Huh?" Schneider had been too busy inspecting Oliver's face, surprised by the ring of black kohl liner smudged around his eyes. They were an odd shade of hazel. Or maybe gray. Or even brown, he couldn't tell without making it obvious that he was staring.

                 "The cost," Oliver repeated, immediately dropping his gaze back to the paperwork. His brow furrowed as he skimmed the contents and began to scribble his signature.

                 Doom thought about it for a second, tearing his gaze away from Oliver’s eyes to focus on what options would suit him. "Ah. Is it all right for me to touch you Herr," he asked, reaching his hand to Oliver's ear.

                 "Ja, of course," Oliver replied without thinking, turning his head to the side to present his ear.

                 Schneider reached for his ear and his brain completely backfired, his hand halting in mid-air. Upon seeing Oliver's profile, he realized just how attractive this man was. He hadn't noticed it before but now that he was so close, Doom couldn't ignore the low level of ... _sexuality?_ in the air. _Was that what he was feeling?_ Certainly not. _Calm the fuck down, Schneider,_ he told himself, snapping out of his daze and taking a proper look at Oliver('s ear). "Ten marks is sufficient," he said finally.

                 Oliver pulled his wallet out, searching for the appropriate bills as he joked, "It would be sort of strange if I asked you to pierce me and then demanded you don't touch me."

                 "You'd be surprised," Schneider replied, rolling his eyes. "Plus, I want to make sure each customer is comfortable with what's happening. Just being polite, I guess."

                 He looked at the piercer curiously before handing the money to Schneider, letting his hand linger for a second too long again. Doom had called him Herr, even though he was younger than him by about five years if he had to guess. Strangely enough, it wasn't forced formality; quite the opposite in fact. He sounded at ease, the words practically a purr on his tongue. _Herr_... he could g--

                 A thump followed by a slight rumbling and yelp was heard from the door behind Doom, snapping the both of them out of their daze. A muffled yell of “I’m okay,” was heard. “I just stuffed my foot in a box, nothing to worry about.”

                 Doom grinned and shook his head before moving away from the desk. “Paul’s usually like that. If you don’t mind following me, we can get started.”

                 Oliver followed Doom into a smaller room with a chair in the middle, reminiscent of a dentist’s office. Decorations were sparse, a few framed pictures spaced out along the rustic burgundy colored walls. One painting in particular caught his eye. He moved to inspect it as Doom went to work setting up the necessary piercing items.

                 The painting was predominately black, with the ivory outlines of five skeletons. Four of them appeared to be dancing around a vibrant, red blanket in some sort of campfire scene. A fifth skeleton was shown, peering out from underneath the blanket watching the others. There was no description or even signature to help him identify it. “This is interesting,” he said, gesturing at the Mohawk-clad skeletons before moving to the chair.

                 Schneider glanced over his shoulder at the painting and grinned. “That’s some of Flake’s work; he was the one finishing up a tattoo when I came in. He did it for an album cover but he says he likes to fuck around with paint.” The blond looked so familiar... maybe because he had worked with bands?

                 Oliver slid onto the chair, nerves finally starting to kick in as his leg began to shake. He felt jittery as Doom laid out a needle, marker, earrings, gauze, and alcohol on the table next to them.

                 Doom noticed his slight apprehension and asked, “Is this your first piercing?”

                 Oliver nodded nervously before letting out a shaky breath. He wasn’t sure why he was so worked up all of a sudden, it couldn’t hurt that badly. He wiped clammy hands on his jeans, hoping it would wear off quickly.

                 “It’s not going to hurt. Ears are the least painful piercing to get,” Schneider said reassuringly.

                 Oliver looked pointedly at his ears, free of any adornments before asking, “You have your ears pierced?”

                 Schneider threw him a questioning glance. “Yeah of course, I pierced it myself when I was sixteen,” he said, hand absentmindedly rubbing at the lobe. His eyes grew wide as he realized there was nothing there. “Shit,” he swore, eyes frantically scanning the floor beneath him. “Ach, I’ll just replace it after I finish with you. I must have forgotten them.” He got up to wash his hands, taking extra care not to touch anything else as he stretched black gloves over his hands. “Are you allergic to latex or any metals?”

                 “No, not to my knowledge,” Oliver replied, glancing at the earrings in front of him. Schneider prompted him to choose a pair, explaining the metals of each stud. He explained that hoops were not used for piercing as they tended to get caught on things and complicate the healing process. Oliver examined each one, deciding against any gemstones and picked a flat silver stud. “I think this one is fine for now,” he said, pointing at his choice.

                 "All right, that pair it is," he said, readying the needle and earrings.

                 Oliver looked nervously back to the painting on the wall, trying his best to distract himself. "You pierced your ears yourself?"

                 "Ja, of course, I wanted to look punk back then," he said. "I've pierced Flake's ears as well. I took them out not long after."

                 "Oh?" Oliver asked.

                 "When I was eighteen," Schneider explained.

                 "Why? And then you put them back in," he asked.

                 "Because I had to at that time," he said simply, not looking up to expand on the subject any further. Oliver sensed that he had possibly touched upon a sensitive subject and left it alone, hoping he hadn't offended the piercer. He looked slightly perturbed for a moment, almost faraway, but it quickly vanished from his features. He noted how expressive the piercer was, emotions clear on his face.

                 Schneider finally looked up, holding the gauze in his hand. "I'm going to clean your ears now," he explained as he moved closer to Oliver. The gauze tickled as he gently wiped at his ears, slightly massaging them to make sure they were clean. Oliver relaxed then, all the tension in his muscles melting away. He was surprisingly gentle, especially for someone called 'Doom'. He discarded the gauze before popping the cap off the marker. “I’m going to mark your ears where the studs will go. Then you can check if you like the positioning. He placed a thumb under Oliver’s chin as a level, carefully determining where to mark. He marked each ear with a miniscule dot, his touch feather light. “That should be good,” he murmured to himself. “Take a look,” he said, offering a small handheld mirror to Oliver.

                 Oliver checked his reflection, satisfied that they were even before handing the mirror back. “It’s good,” he said, bracing himself for what would happen next.

                 “Good. What happens next is I push the needle through your ear, then push the earring through. It’s very simple and it shouldn’t feel like more than a pinch at the most. You ready?” Schneider held the hollow needle up, ready to pierce.

                 Oliver nodded eagerly, excited about the small silver studs. “Yes.”

                 Schneider grasped Oliver’s ear and looked at Oliver, checking to make sure he was still doing all right. Oliver closed his eyes as the needle was pushed through. He nearly flinched as he heard the needle break the skin but Schneider was right, he barely felt anything at all. He secured the first earring quickly, making sure the post was on the back correctly. “I’m going to do the second one now,” he said, and before he knew it, the second piercing was done with a pop.

                 Schneider passed him the mirror and Oliver admired the new steel studs momentarily before putting the mirror down. The silver looked as if it belonged there, catching the light as he turned his head. “This might sound strange,” Oliver started, spontaneously coming up with an idea. “But can you pierce me again?”

                 “Yeah of course I can,” Schneider answered. “Just let me know when you decide on something and we can schedule it.”

                 “No, I mean right now. I already know what I want,” Oliver replied immediately. The adrenaline had kicked in and now he wanted more.

                 Schneider raised an eyebrow quizzically as he spoke. “I guess so, I don’t have any appointments. I’ll have to add it to your paperwork.” Mild amusement crept across his features as he refrained from adding anything else.

                 “That’s fine. Can you pierce my nose too?” He tried not to sound too eager but found it hard to contain his curiosity; wondering how more piercings would look. Richard was right, the earrings looked good; so just one more would be sufficient. The studs were nice but he wanted something more obvious although nothing too flashy.

                 “Of course,” Doom replied, discarding the needle before returning to his supply of jewelry. “Do you want your nostril or your septum?”

                 “The septum is the little bit in the middle right,” Oliver asked, pointing at his own nose.

                 “Mm, that’s not very painful either,” he said as he pulled a couple of drawers open, grabbing a couple of rings and studs.

                 Oliver paused, thinking it over. “Do you have any other piercings? Besides your missing earring, that is.” He was wary to ask, considering the reaction he had gotten about the earring. _What set him off?_ He seemed to know the average pain tolerance for each piercing well enough but he could have been basing it off of customers’ reactions.

                 Doom turned around to face Oliver, wide blue eyes expectant as he poked his tongue out momentarily. Any sign that the piercer had been irritated a minute ago was completely erased by the playfulness behind his smirk. He caught a brief glimpse of a metal ball in the center of his tongue, slightly further back than the ones he had seen other people sporting. “Just this and the earrings. I may add something else soon,” Doom said, grinning. Oliver noticed that it was hard to see the barbell while he spoke, idly wondering if it ever got in the way. For a moment, Oliver let his mind run wild with the idea of a tongue ring. It certainly was unexpected and he didn't think the piercer the type to have one. He could just ask...

                 “I think I’ll go with a nostril piercing,” he replied once he had gotten his mind out of the gutter.

                 “Okay then with nose rings you get a bit more flexibility in terms of what you can be pierced with. There’s studs, rings, and captive bead hoops which are probably my least favorite to pierce with. Aftercare can be tricky with these to be honest,” Doom told Oliver, pointing at a hoop with a metal ball for a closure. Oliver alternated between looking at the jewelry being explained and the faint shine of Schneider’s tongue ring. He was trying not to get distracted but he found the idea of a tongue ring so interesting, and the possibilities of what it would feel like even more so. “They’re much harder to get out for someone new to piercings so I wouldn’t recommend it for you. Especially since your nose may be a bit tender afterwards and getting these out can require a lot of movement. Unless you feel particularly fond of those, I would stay away from them for now,” Doom continued. “You wouldn’t be taking them out until they’re fully healed anyways but I like to warn everyone of the precautions they have to take. Just in case.”

                 Oliver examined each one carefully, finally narrowing his choices down to another stud and a simple silver ring. "Which of the two do you think would look better?” he asked, unsure if there were any differences in how to handle them. He let his gaze wander from Schneider's eyes to his mouth, looking for another glimpse of the ring. Certainly, he could just _look_.

                 Look at what? The impossibly sharp cheekbones? The lone freckle just below the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen? He certainly wouldn't look at the curly wavy hair, combed back out of his face that gave way to a fade just above his ears. That wasn't between his eyes and mouth. No, maybe the shadow of stubble around his lips and along his jawline? Were those dimples? Oliver definitely wouldn't know because he definitely wasn't looking.

                 Doom pointed at the hoop almost instantaneously, oblivious to Oliver's stare. “I think this one, but if you want to match the studs then you could do that too. This one hinges,” he said, picking it up to demonstrate. “Really simple and you won’t have to dig in your nose to ease it out.” The jewelry glinted a few times from between his teeth, teasing Oliver.

                 “Then I’ll go with that one,” Oliver agreed.

                 “Which side do you want it on,” Doom asked, holding up more gauze.

                 “Does it matter?”

                 “No, not particularly, it’s just preference.”

                 Oliver thought about it for a second. “Okay then, I guess the right side.”

                 "All right if I touch your nose?" Schneider asked, prepping the jewelry to be used on the next piercing.

                 "Of course, why wouldn't it be," Oliver chuckled. "You can touch my ears but not my nose," he joked. "I'm not sure how you would pierce me without touching me anyways."

                 "Tricky but not impossible. Just making sure you're still comfortable. I always check, in case someone changes their mind," he explained.

                  _Oh, that's actually very thoughtful_ , was Oliver's mental response. "Ah well, yes," was his verbal reply.

                 Schneider wiped at his nose and Oliver let out a laugh as the gauze tickled at his nostril. Schneider was grinning as he made the mark before motioning to the mirror. “You can see if that’s the right spot.” Once Oliver agreed to the positioning, Schneider reached for another slightly thicker needle. “This will be a little more painful,” he explained. “Piercing cartilage usually is, since it’s tougher. Take a deep breath and when I count to three, breathe out slowly okay?”

                 “Okay I’m ready,” Oliver said, readying himself as Schneider picked up a thin metal rod. He focused on the soon to follow rush that he would experience once he was pierced.

                 “I’m going to use this just so the needle doesn’t hurt you when it goes through,” he said, holding it in place. “One, two, three…”

                 As Doom pushed the needle, Oliver exhaled quickly, wincing slightly as the pressure increased. He tensed up completely, a surge of endorphins rushing through his body. His eyes watered, vision totally blurred, and he blinked quickly in an effort to clear his eyes. He held his breath and the pain wore off as the adrenaline took over. His eyes were screwed shut as he winced slightly at the sensation of the foreign object now sticking out of his nose. He slipped into a euphoric high and exhaled a shaky breath, finally feeling a sense of release as it was finally through his nose.

                 Oliver opened his eyes then, curiosity piqued by the needle still in place. The silvery bar was blurry and awfully close from his perspective. He figured if he tried to focus on it too hard, he'd go crosseyed so he shifted his attention to Schneider. He was deep in concentration, wiggling the needle ever so slightly to catch the ring. Oliver found himself oddly entranced by the focus Doom displayed as he removed the needle with the jewelry neatly in place. His lips were slightly parted as he carefully hinged the ring shut. As Schneider carefully dabbed at his nose, wiping away the little bit of blood there, Oliver shut his eyes again. He was still being very gentle, mindful of the now tender area of Oliver's nose.

                 “Do you feel nausea or dizziness,” Schneider asked.

                 Oliver opened his eyes again to see Doom glancing at him with some uncertainty. “No, not at all,” he quickly replied, feeling a sudden rush of energy.

                 “Good. Watery eyes are normal,” he said, passing him a tissue to wipe his eyes. “You handled that pretty well. Go check it out,” Doom said, smiling slightly. Oliver took the tissue, rapidly blinking and scrunching his nose to adjust to the new piercing. He examined his appearance, nose burning slightly as he gingerly touched a finger to it.

                 He looked back at Doom and smiled, “I really like it, thank you.”

                 “You’re welcome. Try not to play with it too much. Rotating it too much can prolong the healing process. I’m going to give you a sheet with aftercare instructions but the basics are to clean both piercings twice a day and make sure your hands are clean before touching them. Oh and stay away from washcloths, rings get snagged on those pretty easily.”

                 Oliver couldn’t help but glance again at the silver glint in Doom’s mouth as he spoke. He shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of his trance before responding, “I can do that.”

                 Doom cleaned up his piercing table before pulling off the medical-grade gloves and throwing them into the trash. He rummaged around in a cabinet above his body jewelry supply, producing a small bottle of clear liquid and a slip of paper. Oliver waited patiently, peering in the mirror across from him and examining the new jewelry. “Here’s some saline to clean the piercings and the instructions,” he said, standing to pass them both to Oliver. “Your ears should be healed in about six weeks and your nose will take about eight to ten weeks.”

                 He lead the way to the door then opened it to let Oliver out first and followed, letting the door shut with a gentle click. As they reached the front of the shop, Paul was back at the desk, deep in concentration sketching a possible future tattoo. When he heard them approach, he lifted his head and waggled his eyebrows at Oliver before asking, “Did you have fun?”'

                 Oliver was dumbfounded for a second, the obvious innuendo not lost on him as Doom reached over and cuffed the back of his head. “He’s a bit much sometimes,” Schneider said, laughing and exposing the tongue ring again.

                 If Oliver wasn't so distracted by the tongue ring, he surely would have panicked at the thought of Paul knowing that he _liked_ being pierced. Instead he grinned slightly before pocketing the aftercare instructions and bottle. “Thanks again,” he said, twinging his nose again. It was starting to get sore. “How much do I owe you for the second piercing?”

                 “Don't worry about it,” Doom replied.

                 "What? Are you sure?"

                 Paul dropped his pencil, dumbfounded by what he was hearing. How much had Schneider charged for the first piercing? He usually covered the cost of the jewelry at the least. He thought of bringing it to Schneider’s attention but dropped his gaze back to his sketch, chuckling to himself.

                 “Of course, let me know if you have any issues or serious swelling with any of the piercings okay,” Schneider said with a grin (as Oliver tried not to note the dimples again.) Oliver nodded before smiling again as he cautiously placed his headphones over his ears. His very serious punk business resolved; he departed the shop with a wave, leaving Doom smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here, don't surprised if parts of the fic vanish...


	3. Schneider, C. [new]

                 Let me tell you something about Schneider, reader.

                 He had joined up with Feeling B, initially wanting to get involved with as many musicians as possible. What is important to know, is that once the Wall fell, most of the East German punks disappeared. Not entirely, and certainly not all at once, but the process did occur. Once the biggest symbol of the divide was officially null and void, a good amount of the rebellious spirit faded. That’s not to say that all of the issues were instantly solved with reunificiation (far from it), but a victory was achieved. _Auch drüben ist Vaterland_ , indeed.

                 While he had formed a strange sense of kinship with Flake and Paul, he couldn’t quite escape his past. Actually serving his required time in the military made him a rarity among his friends.

                 As the only one who made a full transition to punk drummer, he naturally made others suspicious. Why?

                 Well, would you trust him?

                 Paul Landers certainly didn’t. He found it very hard to believe that a former soldier would decide after finishing conscripted time, he would go off and make music instead. Someone like that automatically raised a red flag, one that screamed ‘informant’ rather than 'musician’. Schneider joined shortly after the Wall fell, although he had been around the scene for years before mainly doing short stints with other bands. Paul made his contempt for those 'rats' clear, untrustworthy and lowly as they were. Harsh, but he felt that if one fought hard enough, it was possible to fly under the radar and dodge service. In his own case, it was simply a matter of pointing out how small he was, knowing that the NVA would want a 'real’ soldier type; burly, obedient, and patriotic. He made sure to feign mental illness as well, so that there was no chance they would try to recruit him later on down the line. It didn't take much to convince the army that he was sick anyways, they had enough in his file about his 'unusual behavior' to back that up. Sure, lying to the government was probably some sort of federal offense but that was insignifcant in the grand scheme of things. Sure, he would have informants tailing himself, Flake, and the rest of their circle of friends. Of course, they tried to pull him onboard to work as an informant but it was impossible to convince him to do anything he didn’t want to. Simply put, he was a stubborn bastard.

                Since Schneider hated discussing his past, Paul made it a point to bring it up. Of course since it was the one things that he wanted to avoid discussing, naturally it resurfaced in a few particularly uncomfortable (and heated) discussions.

                Much to the effect of:

                "I just can’t figure out _you_ and punk music,” Paul said; voice bristling with spikes, bordering on plain viciousness. It was condescending at best, but Schneider had long since grown used to when the guitarist decided to pick the drummer apart for whatever obtuse reasoning he could figure out.

                Schneider’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head, suspicious of the direction Paul was headed in. Then he rolled his eyes and groaned, tired of the conversation they had had many times over. "Because I like it,“ he said curtly, not wanting to get into a longwinded discussion about his musical background.

                Of course Paul would not let it drop so easily. From what he could tell, most Stasi members had either been a part of the NVA or hoped to join it. “So you didn’t want to join the Bullen either? Or did the glorious Volksarmee not offer you what you were looking for?” The disdain was obvious in the sneer of Paul’s voice.

                Doom visibly stiffened at the suggestion. He had nothing to prove to a bunch of gutter punks (even if he was slowly becoming one of them.)

                A sharp intake of breath was followed by a tight 'nein’.

                Perhaps this is a bit confusing? The years prior to 1989 may help provide some context then.

                Schneider recalled the general feeling of aimlessness he had felt when he had joined the army. He never really wanted to join; his main focus was on music, never relenting on his goal throughout his life. He was skilled at piano, spending hours hunched over the ivory keys. Schneider would not leave the piano until he had perfected a particularly difficult measure, only satisfied when his fingers glided across the keys instead of stumbling. For someone so young, it was uncommon to have such intense focus on music, much less anything else. However, it wasn’t until he picked up the trumpet that he realized his true passion.

                _"Christoph! Pay attention!”_ was a phrase he had heard often in band practices druing his youth. He couldn’t help himself. How could he be expected to pay attention when all the interesting instruments were behind him? He’d often turn around during long rests in a piece to catch a glimpse of what the drummers were doing. He could practically feel goosebumps on his skin when he heard the thrum of the bass. Once in a while, he would pantomine playing so that he could focus his attention on the popping of the snares behind him. There was such a pull to the drums.

               He felt a surge of anger as he recalled the dedication he had to learning the drums, building his own drum set out of whatever he could find. He beat that set until it broke more times than he could count before his parents gave in and finally bought him a proper setup.

               Schneider had to bring his drums to his brother, clutching whatever pieces had snapped off or broken in the hopes that he could fix it. Sticks constantly splintered from too much force despite various attempts at prolonging their use with duct tape. He was rough on his drums, sometimes bordering on the point of brutality. The Mylar of the drum heads were badly pockmarked from whenever he went a bit overboard. Various scratches littered the cymbals and high hat while some of the paint of the snare shells chipped away. Schneider stomped with such intensity that the head of the bass pedal had come loose too many times to count. Tension lugs had given out from the times he had experimented too much with different sounds. His drum set was in a state of perpetual welding and recovery for a long time until he found a solution.

              Granted, it was not the greatest solution, as a matter of a fact it was hardly one at all. During the time he had few other options. He wanted to pursue music as a career, professionally if he could. He saw joining the army as a guarantee for him to enroll in university. Service was mandatory anyways and dissenting proved to be more trouble than it was worth. His parents would never let him hear the end of it if he decided to dodge the military so he begrudgingly joined at their insistence.

              The Volksarmee, all he ever heard about in school. The Volksarmee, all he ever heard about at home. The Volksarmee, the thing he dreaded the most. He had heard what it was like; from reassurances that nothing would happen, as long as he kept his head down to the outright ridiculous, (and maybe entirely possible) double agents working between the Eastern and Western Bloc eventually winding up as unpersons. But that was all merely speculation (so he hoped.) _The goddamned Volksarmee_ that was meant to be a failsafe in case his plan didn't go as expected. If there was one thing that ran efficiently, it was the military. A foolproof plan to get into university; one that was meant to bring him one step closer to his career.

              So naturally, it let him down.

              How?

              There were three things Schneider was skilled at during his military career; keeping to himself, taking orders, and his job. His job was unimportant, at least in his own mind, something he could do in his sleep. But he did it to the best of his ability so no one would have any reason to question him. He showed skill working with technology but nothing kept him occupied. However, his talent was enough to earn him a place at university in the communications and computer science departments. Not exactly what he wanted but nevertheless, his service earned him his education.

               In early 1986 he had finished his required time, finally free to study music. He had been playing for years but when it came to audition for entry, he was worried. All the money spent on keeping his Frankenstein drums intact, all the time spent rehearsing until his arms were heavy as lead, all the performances that ended in cramped fingers and sore muscles would be tested in the time span of an hour. Years of preparation and exhaustive practice would be crammed into one test.

                _"Christoph Schneider;_

_We regret to inform you that you have not been admitted to our academy. While you are skilled, we feel that this is not the right fit. Attached are the reviews of your performance. We thank you for your interest in our school and hope that perhaps you will apply again in the future.”_

_“…while the audition piece was satisfactory, style is somewhat unrefined…”_

_"…proficient but not exactly suited for classical and the like…”_

_“…too rambunctious, a bit too loud…”_

_“…interesting, shows potential but needs some improvements…”_

_Es._

_Reicht._

_Nicht._

                 His heart dropped as he skimmed through the reviews, hardly reading the contents. Surely there had been some sort of mistake. Music was what he was truly passionate about. He had worked so hard for so long and he didn’t measure up. He could barely bring himself to face his parents when he received the news, they would be extremely disappointed.

                  He was right.

                  It took months to forget the confusion and disappointment clearly written in their expressions when he told them. How could their son, who showed such promise in his earlier years, fail? Christoph was talented, showing skill in trumpet, piano, and drums. He had been raised with music from the very beginning, the both of them musicians by profession. 

                 Despite the sense of emptiness he felt threatening to crush him, he carried on playing. Music was a part of his very being, how could he quit now? He would not let it go so easily. He practiced day in and day out whenever he was not working, even falling asleep at the piano. Nights often ended with Schneider unsticking his face from the instrument and ambling off to bed in search of rest. He worked tirelessly to ensure that he was completely prepared for the next chance.

                 At the second audition, he took a deep breath, his fingers poised above the piano, and poured his soul into the song. His hands glided across the keys, each transition seamless and perfect. He kept his gaze low, eyes nearly closed in concentration. This was his last chance to get into university and to prove that the last tryout was a fluke. He thanked the panel of professors as he left, knowing he gave it everything he had. A week later, he held a thick envelope between clammy hands. His hands shook as he tore open the packet and pulled out the contents.

                  _“To Christoph Schneider;_

_We thank you for your continued interest in our institution…”_

_Es._

_“…however some progress is evident. Could use private lessons to…”_

_Reicht._

_“…with that in mind, perhaps if he could play another instrument…”_

_Nicht._

                 Not again.

                 He quickly realized he had to come to terms with the fact that he was not what they were looking for. He would move past it... and play music on his own terms.

                 "That was six years ago. I served because I had to,” he said, his tone blunt. He hated thinking about the time he wasted trying to make his goals a reality. Three years of putting up with the military and everything that came along with it; the politics, the hazing, the inescapable heirarchy and in turn the convulted pranks that played a part in it. He had wasted part of his life, two fears coming to fruition in one fell swoop. He bit back the angry response he had, abruptly stood and stormed out of the room, not caring to hear anything else Paul had to say. How dare he question Schneider's past?

                 See the problem was that after a while, Schneider started to doubt himself. Individually, each issue was manageable but there was only so much Schneider could take. He was so tired, exhausted of dealing with Paul’s constant badgering whenever something didn’t go right. Schneider’s innate sense of perfectionism clashed with Paul’s own perfectionist tendencies, brute honesty, and ability to pick things apart to a point of near dissection. The two would butt heads over silly issues such as where to place the bridge, backbeats, and sometimes even posture. ( _Who the hell sits that stiffly behind a drumset?_ and _Pull the rod out of your ass!_ were some of Paul's more common retorts.)

                 Paul demanded a lot from Schneider and he couldn’t help but feel singled out. Flake never took anything seriously yet he was never the subject of the guitarist’s criticisms. They had been together for the better part of a decade so they had plenty of time to grow accustomed to one another. Schneider had known Paul for about three years and wanted to throw him out any open window half the time. He wished he could talk to Flake about Paul but when it came to the shorter blond, Flake was as good as putty. It was impossible to figure out how Flake was so patient with him. Although, Flake had moments of irrationality and unpredictability, he was usually a very straightforward and no-nonsense type of person. He was very blunt and honest; definitely not one to tiptoe around someone’s feelings.

                Paul, being the eternal optimist that he was (except when it came to Schneider), always lightened the mood and brought balance to Flake’s sometimes gloomy demeanor. Doom thought of Paul as the flip-side to Flake at first, convinced they were polar opposites.

                After spending more time with them, playing music (and eventually tattooing), it was much different. Doom realized how much Paul rubbed off on Flake during some of their practices, parties, and sessions. They seemed like two halves of a kindred soul, thoughts and mood fluidly alternating between each other. Flake and Paul resembled two Siamese cats with the way they acted sometimes, rarely straying far from the other. Any day now, Schneider expected they would be finishing each other’s sentences.

                Their relationship was sort of complex, something between friendship and a little more, but Schneider wasn’t too concerned with them. As a matter of fact, after service, he was hardly interested in any relationships; including his own. Everything in his life had basically drilled the same message into his head; es reicht nicht.

                 Teach yourself drums? Not good enough.

                 Can play three instruments? Come on, at least five is standard. (Hardly any of them helped during those university auditions anyway.)

                 Learned how to program electronic drum loops? Interesting but wouldn't synth have been more useful? (It'd satisfy your cheesy 80s pop fixation.)

                 He felt had made a serious mistake, constantly fixated on how he could make up for it. He had thrown away the past three years trying to be good enough for the Volksarmee. And for what?

                 Nothing paid off, he ended up wasting his time rather bitter about the army wasting his time. By then, any sensible person would have given up. (Use your head Christoph, go back to computer science, where the skills you learned in the army can be put to good use. It's the least you could do for leaving a good position with the national military.) But he didn't go back.

                 Instead he ran in the opposite direction, going as far as he could. He wasn't refined enough? Then he would have to get as far from sophistication as possible. (His family didn't quite like that but at that point, he was more than capable of handling the consequences.) He wouldn't have to experience that sort of disappointment with punk music. Gritty, rough and imperfect; the perfect combination for Schneider's new found musical direction. The punks were _interesting_ ; traveling around whenever and wherever they pleased to play music and enjoy life.

                 Of course, Schneider didn't just fall into a band instantly. There was the short lived Keine Ahnung, which dissolved a few months after the initial practices. Meeting some of the guys from Ich-Funktion led him to Tatiana, which led into Die Firma, where he also met Paul. A more established band with a sense of structure and twice monthly gigs was exactly what Schneider needed to shake him out of his rut. And for a while, it worked. Until it didn't. An IM in a band is tricky ground to navigate, so tricky that Die Firma chose to disband altogether rather than continue without said member.

                 While Schneider was still new to the music scene, Paul could be considered a near veteran amongst the punks. Paul was in Feeling B, _the_ East German punk band. He introduced him to Aljoscha, who immediately took a liking to him.

                 Although Aljoscha would never admit it, Schneider reminded him so much of himself at that age. Young, angry, a bit directionless, and jaded with society in general. Schneider's contempt for the military grew during this time and he especially despised socialism and East German government. Aljoscha had realized that there had always been some sort of struggle when it came to creating music for Schneider, and so he invited him to drum for Feeling B. He had determination and skill, but had never really caught a break from what the older man knew. And so, Aljoscha brought him along with Flake and Paul, to loosen up a bit and enjoy the punk lifestyle for a few years.

                 However, the army did nothing to dull Schneider's intense focus and the rejection from university only served to kindle the rage he felt. In addition to wanting to create music (and art to an extent), those factors immediately caused friction between him and Paul. Paul may have nitpicked at Schneider when it came to playing but as far as the music went, it was a free for all.

                 Paul had been a bit bitter about Schneider joining the group Aljoscha finally informed him after a particularly long jam session over cigarettes. Much to his surprise, the older man revealed Paul felt if Schneider had been somewhat privileged through his time with the army and college. He had never really had the opportunity to speak at length with Aljoscha about the others and he was especially taken aback by Aljoscha choosing to address it.

                 "He's been through a lot of the police raids and demonstrations with me, you know. He doesn't like to admit it but he still sorely misses what used to be as much as he gets on Flake about it. But you've got a decent idea of how nostalgic Flake is," Aljoscha said with a wave of his hand.

                 "He hasn't had a good year since 1970," Schneider deadpanned.

                 Aljoscha's eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly, chuckling before taking a long swig from his mug. "That's Flake." They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, occasionally sipping at their drinks and watching the lights of the city flicker and move about. The heat of the day had finally subsided, now replaced by a pleasantly cool and relatively calm night. Aljoscha's apartment at the time had the perfect balcony, plenty enough for space for guests and impromptu jam sessions, when the mood called for it. (It was really more of an art squat in an old 'community center' but punks never needed much.)

                 "But Paul's getting there," he began. "He's coming around and becoming a bit more understanding. You should have seen the raids going on in the months before the Wall came down. Almost all of them were a total mess, you ought to be glad you weren't still in service by then. I swear, half the raids ended up with the police showing their badges to each other. Informants all over the goddamn place and all that. Skinheads made nothing better, although they didn't show up too often to our shows. But police would always come break up the concerts regardless," he sighed heavily as he recalled the details to Schneider. "Plus he's still a bit sore about the falling out with some of the other bands that turned out to have informants." At this, he gave Schneider a knowing look but didn't push that line of thought any further. For that, Doom was grateful.

                 "Does he think that I..." Schneider began, question hanging heavy in the air between them.

                 "No, not at all. It's not that, he's just wary. You have to understand I've never spoken highly of the army," Aljoscha explained.

                 "Neither have I," Schneider scoffed, no love lost there.

                 "He's never spoken to you about it, has he? It's not exactly as if he's been in close contact with any other ex-soldiers his age. I know some things are still similar from when I was younger. Constant reinforcement that," Aljoscha paused and puffed his chest out, then proudly proclaimed, " _we_ are the second line of Soviet defense! We must protect the interests of the land! _For socialism!_ "

                 Schneider perked up at that, a blithe chuckle issuing from his lips. "The DDR," he spat. "Did nothing for me or anyone I knew. All they wanted were puppets."

                 Soldiers trained to follow orders; precise, punctual, and obedient. A routine to follow at every turn, regulations on how long to shower, what food to eat (Schneider was still bitter about bananas), everything down to the shoelaces was the military-issue standard. Clicking through the day at a regulated pace; ( _eins_ ), waking up, exercising, drills, ( _zwo_ ), shower, drills, daily duties, ( _drei_ ), dinner, 'free time', ( _vier_ ), return to base, sleep. Repeat, repeat, repeat, eins, zwo, drei, vier, eins, zwo, drei, vier. Combat soldiers doubling as metronomes, all compliant as they clicked along at a steady pace. He could follow (and set) a rhythm, it was part of what made him a good drummer after all. But not quite good enough, even when he threw his entire being into it. Coming to terms with that fact was especially devastating and getting progressively harder to ignore. Drumming couldn't quite drown it out like he thought.

                 "Be glad you were smart enough to realize that then."

                 "...but I still served."

                 "You did." Aljoscha turned to properly look at him, gaze searching for something Schneider did not know. "You did what the country asked you to do, and you did it well. Do you regret that?"

                 Schneider's mouth was slightly agape, at a loss for words. "I-"

                 "You don't have to answer that. I certainly don't begrudge you for serving, because it means you know firsthand what it was like. You've experienced it, formed your own opinions, and now you are with us. You could have easily stayed on that path and worked your way into a stable career with the government," Aljoscha reminded him.

                 "But then their  _paradise_ fell apart anyways," Schneider scowled. "At the root of it was never about reaching those ideals. Everyone always rushing to step on and over each other to serve their best interests. It was so easy to throw someone under the bus, propel _yourself_ forward." The more he verbalized his pent-up frustrations, the angrier he got. The rage he had felt in the past still hadn't quite dissipated, and now he felt it rise to the surface yet again. "It was all bullshit," he finished bitterly.

                 "It seems you weren't meant to be there anyways. Imagine if you had stayed until everyone jumped ship when the wall fell. You're much better off with us now," Aljoscha said brightly. "We can still live how we want, by our own rules without Stasi breathing down our necks at every show. Sounds like paradise to me," he quipped, now beaming at the drummer. "Loosen up, you look like you've got a dent in your forehead when you do that thing with your brows."

                 Schneider rolled his eyes and sighed, immediately shrugging off the tension he felt physically manifesting in his neck and shoulders. "It got to be a bit much."

                 "I understand why it gets frustrating. I'll have to remind him you and I are from the upper class after all," he said, voice taking on a pompous air. "Both college-educated men and all, see? Even if college was just a bunch of drifting sausages and eggheads." Aljoscha's vocabulary combinations never ceased to amaze Schneider. "Trying to get things done politically is a nightmare with a bunch of intellectuals who are looking for circle jerk debates as opposed to getting out there and doing something about it. All about ideologies and satisfying their own egos, you know the type." Aljoscha paused again, downing the last of his drink before continuing. "I've seen what money and ego does to people. But I'm sure you're familiar with that sort of thing." He looked over at Schneider, then added. "But that's another story."

                 Schneider nodded, deciding to not to pursue that line of thought.

                 When Schneider joined Feeling B, they were just making 'fun punk' music at that point. He liked fun punk, but that wasn't going to get him where he wanted to be. He wanted to make something out of himself, he had to. He stuck around with Feeling B, still somewhat unhappy that he had reached yet another dead end. The punk scene changed after 1989, and he couldn't help but feel he was along for the ride at that point. He had always been shifting through bands, playing as a stand-in, and 'just visiting'. Feeling B gave him some sense of belonging, even with Paul's constant bickering and the off the wall behavior of the entire group but there was still something missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The transition from this chapter to the next has to be fixed, but this is more of the direction I wanted to include in the story originally.  
> \- "Auch drüben ist Vaterland": The fatherland is here too, which can be found on signs along the West German border pointing to the East.  
> \- Schneider spent a few years in the [National Volksarmee](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_People%27s_Army) before he joined Feeling B.  
> -[Stasi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stasi): the East German secret police force.  
> -Bullen: slang for cops.  
> 


	4. der Anfang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited 2/21/17. A good portion of this chapter was deleted cause quite simply, it was useless. It got away from the plot a bit too much.

                 The shrill ring of the telephone rang through the tattoo parlor, breaking the piercer from his train of thought. He looked to the clock frowning, wondering who was calling at this hour. Laying down the pen he held in his hand and hastily shoving his to-do list into his pocket, he lazily reached for the receiver.

                 "Metall und Tinte, Schneider speaking," he sighed into the phone, not really caring to deal with a customer after the shop was technically closed. Who the fuck was calling the shop anyways? He had half a mind to hang up the phone but stopped once he heard the frantic voice's reply.

                 "Hello, I have a bit of an emergency here," Oliver said, silently thanking whatever deity put Schneider on the phone.

                 Before Oliver could say anything else, Schneider cut him off, nearly barking into the phone, “How bad? Is it tattoo or piercing related? Have you called a hospital? What’s going on?”

                 “Um, hopefully not too serious, it’s a piercing and I think I might have broken it. I can’t get the ring to close anymore.”

                 “Is it infected? Any pus or pain? Do you think you need medical attention,” Schneider asked, his voice getting progressively higher with each question.

                 “No, no, I don’t think so. I’m not sure if it’s infected but if it’s possible, I’d like to get it checked tomorrow at some point,” Oliver replied, trying to ignore the pain while staring cross-eyed at the hoop. He could hardly touch the ring without wincing in pain, eyes automatically tearing up whenever he attempted to move it.

                 Upon closer examination, he realized the part that hinged in and out seemed to partially be out of its intended track. He had been so meticulous about cleaning it and taking care of it but now it seemed as if this would reverse the healing process. There was no blood but it had swollen and the surrounding area was red.

                 “If you’d rather not let it wait, I can take a look at it tonight. Can you come in now?

                 “Uh yeah, I can,” Oliver said, looking around for his wallet and keys. “I can be there in twenty minutes if that’s all right?”

                 “Sure, I’ll be here. See you soon then,” Schneider said, before hanging up.

                 Oliver couldn’t believe his luck as he pulled on the first pair of clean pants he saw. Pulling a tank top and sweatshirt over his head carefully, trying his best not to agitate the ring further, he headed out the door. Two trains and a three minute half-hearted jog later, he was at the door of Metall und Tinte. He grasped the handle and pulled but the door was locked. The shop was dimly lit and for a minute he thought that maybe Schneider had left already. He tried to see inside but no one was visible. He stood with his back to the door for a few seconds, debating on whether or not to leave.

                 A clicking sound was followed by a soft “Hallo? Did you call me a few minutes ago?”

                 Oliver turned to find himself face to face with a concerned looking Doom poking his head around the door. He let out a sigh of relief and nodded sheepishly. "Ja, I fucked up my nose ring."  
“Oliver right? Come in, please, I’ll take a look at it,” he said, squinting in the darkness at the younger man's piercing. He was more than relieved to see that it wasn't some bratty teenager who requested his services. Oliver stepped inside, then moved out of the way for Schneider to lock the door back, before following him into the shop.

                 “Are you closed,” Oliver asked, looking at the rooms as he passed for any sign of the resident tattoo artists.

                 “Uh, oh, yeah sort of, I was here a bit later than usual,” Schneider replied as he prepared his workspace.

                 “You didn’t have to stay here! Aw shit, I didn’t even notice the time, shit I’m so sorry, that was so inconsiderate of me,” Oliver said, eyes wide as he realized that Doom was probably about to leave when he called. “I could have come in tomorrow or something, shit.”

                 Doom smiled at him, wanting to laugh at how many times Oliver said ‘shit’ in a flustered tone. “It’s totally fine, I needed to stay behind anyways. Catch up on a couple of things." He began to prepare his work space and pulled on gloves once he properly washed his hands.

                 Oliver noticed how Schneider’s eyes crinkled when he grinned, relieved that he didn’t seem to be upset about being kept at the shop. Shortly after, Schneider leaned in close to see what was going on with the piercing. He watched how focused Doom was until a gentle prod to his nose snapped him out of his trance. “Ah!”

                 “The actual piercing looks okay to me although it's a bit inflamed. I’ll have to replace the jewelry, I don’t how you managed to bend this one out of shape,” Doom said, carefully turning Oliver’s face, observing the nose ring. “How many times did this ring get bent?”

                 “I only got it snagged once, when I called,” he insisted. “It got caught on my towel after I showered and I didn’t notice until I tried to put it down.”

                 Schneider chuckled, “From the looks of it, you very nearly ripped it out. Look there’s still bits of towel thread left on it.”

                 Oliver went cross-eyed again, trying to look at what Doom meant. Schneider started laughing again, the ever elusive glint of silver once again making a short-lived appearance. Oliver glanced at it again, still curious about the piercing. He also noticed that Doom was wearing earrings similar to the ones Paul wore. Looking at them made him want to switch his own earrings to something more interesting.

                 “I’ll let you look at it after it’s out. Let me grab another one,” Schneider said, turning back to his supplies to find a replacement ring. After pulling out a few options, he found a suitable replacement and cleaned off Oliver’s nose as best he could. Oliver twitched away in pain a few times while Doom wiped at it although the pain had lessened.

                 “I’m sorry, I’ll make this as fast as possible,” Schneider said, gently rotating the broken hinge out of place. Doom wiped once again when the ring was out; then Oliver felt a bit of pressure as the new ring was quickly pushed in. It was slightly unpleasant and he closed his eyes tightly until it was over.

                 Schneider couldn't help but take advantage of the moment, glancing at the blond's features as his lashes fluttered shut. Square jawline, perfectly arched brows, remarkably long lashes, sharp cheekbones ... he was actually quite handsome. He noted that Oliver's nose was slightly off center, the end leaning ever so slightly to the right. That thought was briefly followed by one that went something like this; _why are you looking at his nose so closely anyways_? To which the snide answer his brain provided was; _Oh maybe the ring I'm putting through it has something to do with that_. Quietly shaking his head, he withdrew his hand once he was sure the piercing was secure.

                 “All set. Now you can look at the ring,” he said, holding the defective ring in the middle of his palm.

                 “I don’t know how I bent it so badly,” Oliver said, frowning at it. He picked up with his thumb and forefinger, examining the tiny bits of string hanging from it. “Thank you so much for replacing it now, you didn’t have to stay for this.”

                 “No, it’s no problem, I’m glad you came to get it changed. I imagine if you had kept it in overnight, you might have woken up with your face connected to the pillow. Or it might have fallen out and closed up some then it would have been a lot harder to put in another,” Schneider explained.

                 “Still, I’m sure this is the last thing you want to do at the end of your day.”

                 “Today was pretty uneventful, to be honest. I don’t mind at all,” Schneider said, pulling off and discarding his gloves. “To be honest, I was looking for some sort of distraction. Paul wants me to come over and visit his mouse or something.”

                 “A mouse? He’s keeping a mouse as a pet,” Oliver asked, letting out a laugh.

                 Schneider laughed with him before responding with, “He told me I need to brush up on my Russian before I come. I’m not sure I want to know what he means. I’m pretty sure he found him here, in the shop.”

                 Oliver gave him a quizzical look before laughing again. “He’s trying to domesticate a field mouse? Sort of an odd pet.”

                 "Paul's sort of an odd man, in case you hadn't gathered that yet," Schneider said, only half-joking.

                 "Ah." Oliver smiled at the piercer briefly before realizing he was still holding the nose ring in his hand. He moved to throw it away then turned back to Schneider. “Thank you, I appreciate you helping me out. How much do I owe you,” he asked, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

                 “You’re welcome but you don’t owe me anything, don’t worry about it,” Schneider replied, waving his hand dismissively.

                 “Are you sure? I’m sure the ring costs something,” Oliver said, insistent on repaying him for staying later than he needed to.

                 “No, no it’s fine, I can spare a few pieces of jewelry here and there. It’s not anything custom so no big deal,” Schneider said, smiling at the taller man. “Plus you haven’t given me any problems,” he added with a chuckle, thinking about some of his other more difficult clients.

                 Oliver couldn’t help but smile again in return, trying to ignore the fact that Doom’s grin was seemingly contagious. “How can I give you problems? I just sit here while you work,” he said, standing there for a moment, watching Schneider tidy up the room before feeling a bit awkward for just staring. He felt a faint flush creeping onto his face and looked away immediately, not wanting to be seen. "Thanks again, do you mind letting me out,” he asked, hoping Schneider wouldn’t catch on.

                 “No problem, let me just put this away and I’ll let you out,” Schneider said, stowing the last of his things.

                 Oliver nodded and stood in the doorway, waiting patiently. Doom quickly finished up and gestured toward the door. They walked to the door together and Doom looked around the shop, making sure everything was in place. “Oh, hang on,” Doom said, moving back to the desk and scrambling around for a pen. Oliver leaned on a table against the wall, observing more of Flake’s artwork around the studio.

                 He scribbled on a small piece of paper before handing it to Oliver. “Usually we aren’t here this late,” he paused then, glancing around again. “So if you have any more questions or anything else goes wrong while I’m not in the shop, you can call me. Unless something really serious happens, I should be able to help you out,” he added.

                 Oliver smiled shyly before pocketing the number as Schneider unlocked the door. “Thank you again,” he said, pleased that Schneider replaced the ring without any issues.

                 “You’re welcome. Please try not to rip out your piercings anymore though. Good night Oliver,” he said, waving as he locked the door back. As they walked in opposite directions, Oliver looked back over his shoulder at Doom’s retreating form, smiling to himself. He would have to come back for another piercing sometime soon.


	5. Entzünden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> edited 2/21/17.

                The next few weeks had gone by without serious incident and Oliver’s piercings were healing up better than he expected. His ears were fine, almost completely healed with no signs of irritation, but he had yet to remove or change them. He was being extra cautious after what had happened with his nose. It was slightly inflamed for about two days and it took almost a week before the pain finally subsided. It showed no external signs of trouble but just to be sure, he wanted to return to the shop to have it checked.

                After telling Richard about nearly yanking his ring out, he found that Richard kept an even closer eye on it than he did somehow. Despite Till’s efforts to try to get Richard to ease up, it was useless. Whenever he stopped by, Richard would almost instantly stare at his nose in worry before greeting him. To put his own mind (and Richard’s) at ease, he invited him to come along to the shop for a follow up.

                He decided against calling Schneider’s personal number, instead opting for calling the parlor directly as it wasn’t an emergency and the shop was still open. This time Paul answered the phone, helping him schedule his appointment.

                “An hour from now work for you,” Oliver asked Richard as he hung up the phone. Richard nodded, reaching for his jacket.

                “Yeah, I have nowhere important to go today. Let’s do this,” Richard said, excited to see the piercer Oliver had been raving about. He insisted that Doom was extremely helpful, as well as friendly with whoever came to the shop. Anyone who could get Oliver that animated was worth a visit. Plus, Richard was looking for jewelry for both himself and Till. If he found something nice enough, he could try to convince Till to start wearing his earring again. He hoped that maybe Till would consider getting something else pierced but decided not to push his luck anytime soon.

                They made their way to the train station and boarded the U-Bahn, receiving significantly fewer curious stares than the first time they had ridden together. Richard was sans collar, hair combed back neatly and looking much more presentable by ‘normal’ standards. The only stares Oliver attracted were due to his height, as usual. The clicking of the train running along the tracks mingled with the low sound of conversation rumbling through the subway car as they rode along. The walk to the shop took longer than Oliver’s last trip; he wasn’t rushing to get there before closing and Richard’s strides were considerably shorter. Nevertheless, they arrived at the shop on time and slightly winded.

-

                Paul entered Doom’s office to inform him of the phone call he had received. “I got you an appointment,” he drawled as he sat on the counter next to Doom.

                “Get your ass off there. I’m trying to keep it sanitary but that’s impossible if you insist on sitting on it,” Doom snapped, barely registering Paul’s presence. “When?”  

                “About an hour from now. Maybe a little sooner, just a follow up. It’s so dull in here, you should really consider adding something for people to look at while you stick them with needles and rings,” Paul said, glancing around Doom’s area of the studio. “Flake’s painting could use some company,” he said, eyeing it as he paced back and forth.

                “Thank you for the interior decorating advice, but don’t you have anything to do,” Schneider asked in a less than friendly tone.

                “Nope,” Paul replied cheerfully, his attention focused on flicking a piece of stray gauze across the table where Schneider was.

                He glared at Paul for a moment before snatching the piece of cotton away from him and discarding it.

                “Don’t you,” Paul retorted, albeit with a much happier air before leaving Doom to himself. Doom opened his mouth to reply but he was already gone. There was nothing wrong with having a minimalist approach to his personal space. Paul’s workspace was much more disorganized than his ever was; Schneider found it totally cluttered but Paul liked having his ‘work on display’, as he put it. Paperwork and drawings were scattered everywhere, any open space covered by either paper or markers. The only area that wasn’t a total mess was the space where he kept the tattoo ink and guns, next to his client’s chair. He scoffed at the thought of Paul telling him how to arrange his area. He had to get ready for his next appointment and set to work before he was interrupted again.

-

                Paul noticed the two men right away as he entered the main area of the parlor, waving at them politely. “Do you have an appointment or are you looking to make another one?”

                “I just called in, not too long ago. A follow up of sorts I guess. We’re also looking to get some jewelry too actually,” Oliver answered. “I was hoping to find some replacements,” he said, gesturing at the glass display case between them. “Maybe something from what’s in here.” He absentmindedly rubbed at his silver studs as he glanced down.

                “You two make a cute couple,” Paul said, grinning mischievously at them.

                Oliver blushed and stammered as Richard wrapped an arm around him, snickering as he agreed. “Oh uh, it’s, it’s-”, Oliver said before Richard cut him off.

                “Aren’t we?” He laughed again, Oliver still in his grasp. Oliver rolled his eyes at Richard before wriggling away from him to move closer to the case. He found Richard loved to play around with people’s perceptions, often claiming Oliver as his boyfriend or being extremely affectionate with Till in public. Nothing seemed to phase Till but then again, someone could probably leave a live bomb in front of him and still not get a reaction. However, Richard managed to get his intended reactions from whoever his audience was at the time. Oliver chalked it up to his work persona and generally friendly attitude, which some found hard to handle. He was slowly getting used to it, although he still had his moments where he was caught off guard.

                “I’ll get Doom for you,” Paul said, quickly setting off for the back, his smile wide as ever.

                Opening the door to Doom’s space, he yelled, “A client and his boyfriend are waiting for you.”

                Doom waved his hand dismissively, already too annoyed by Paul to look in his direction. “I’ll be right there.” After checking over his supplies briefly, he went to the front of the shop.

                “Oliver, hallo,” Doom said, unable to stop the grin from creeping to his lips.

                Oliver looked up from the glass, smiling in greeting before Richard tapped him and pointed at the glass. “Olli, look at these earrings,” he said.

                Doom looked around the shop, briefly wondering who Paul was talking about before it clicked into place. _Oliver_ was the client he meant. His first thoughts were something along the lines of _he’s kind of short for him_. His next thought was _Olli? That’s sort of-_

                “I think these would look nice huh babe?”

                Doom looked at him with eyebrows raised, why would he use an English term of endearment with Oliver? The way he pronounced it seemed like he wasn’t used to the word yet, voice wrapping around the syllables strangely. He wasn’t all that familiar with English, only vaguely catching onto the language but something told him that word didn’t have as many letters as the man added to it.

                Oliver looked at what Richard pointed at, a simple gold set of rings, although somewhat thin. “I don’t know Reesh. Can I look at those, Schneider,” he asked, looking up at Schneider.

                Again, he wore eyeliner, this time a little more visible than before. Schneider opened his mouth to agree but he forgot what he was going to say, instead turning away to grab a key to open the locked case. He could have sworn that he caught Oliver staring at his mouth, but what was so special about his mouth?

                He was being brave, if anything, his boyfriend was still next to him. He must have been imagining things because the next second, Oliver’s gaze was focused on the earrings beneath his fingers. Richard seemed none the wiser to their interaction, his attention caught by a particularly expensive set encrusted with gems.

                Doom looked at Richard, wondering how Oliver and Richard became a couple. He wasn’t sure if Oliver had a type but if he had to imagine it, it wouldn’t be Richard. He was broader than Oliver, but much smaller. Richard was attractive, he supposed, but not very appealing to his own preferences. 

                He would have imagined Oliver to date someone closer to his height, for some reason. He pictured someone tall, possibly similar in personality. From his first impression of Oliver, he would have to say he was somewhat reserved. He would enjoy someone laid-back who knew how to be spontaneous but not too showy. He frowned then, it wasn’t his place to critique anyone’s relationship especially since he didn’t know the two men in question very well.

                For a second, he tried to picture Flake in Richard’s place but nearly laughed out loud instead. Flake and Oliver would make a very strange couple indeed. He could hardly picture Flake with anyone except maybe his fellow tattoo artist, but that was a different story. He pushed that mental image out of his head as he passed Oliver the earrings he was looking at.

                He took them from Doom, examining them before looking around for a mirror. Doom pointed towards a mirror on the wall nearby and said, “Those are nice but they might be a little delicate for your features. Too thin,” he said, much to Richard’s dismay.

                “Doom knows delicate very well,” Paul teased as he moved past them to enter the back of the shop. Schneider sneered at Paul, annoyed by his snide comments. Was he purposely trying to push his buttons? What for? It was fruitless to ask himself such questions, even rhetorically.

                “Oh, I see what you mean. Maybe we could try something in a different metal?” He handed the pair back to Doom, peering at the case again.

                Doom returned the earrings to their spot in the case, reaching for another slightly thicker silver pair. He handed them to Oliver and said, “Try these instead.” Oliver looked in the mirror again, tilting his head to get a better look at his profile.

                Richard appeared behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder to look at the reflection. “Aren’t those sort of simple? Like too plain?” Doom watched Oliver’s expression turn into a thoughtful frown, his hand dropping slightly as he considered Richard’s opinion.

                “I guess so,” he said, still deciding whether or not he liked that pair. “But you know what I like, nothing too flashy,” Oliver sighed. He approached the counter again, placed the silver earrings on the counter between them and leaned against the case to get a better look.

                Doom retrieved a pair Richard pointed out and handed them over, already knowing that Oliver wouldn’t like them. Richard took them from him instead as Oliver shook his head. “Not for you, for me,” Richard clarified as he turned them over between his fingers.

                “Oh! Well in that case, yes,” Oliver replied. Richard approached his reflection as Oliver turned back to the case. “I liked the weight of the last pair you gave me” he told Doom.

                “Those are a little thicker. They should go through your ears with no problem. It might be a little painful if your ears aren’t totally healed yet,” Doom explained, fiddling with them as he spoke.

                “Oh I don’t mind a little pain,” Oliver said absentmindedly, with a slight grin on his face as he bent closer to look at a nose stud. Doom gazed down at him quizzically and Oliver’s eyes went wide as he looked up, flushing slightly. “Shit, I uh,” he stammered, “that uh, um.”

                Doom snickered, trying not to smirk as Oliver tried to explain himself, failing miserably.

                He tried to change the subject, pointing at the pair he mentioned. “I like those. Is it possible to get them in another color of metal?”

                “Yeah of course,” Doom said. “If it’s not silver or gold, I’d have to put in an order for them. We’ve just started to carry the anodized titanium stuff.” He paused at Oliver’s puzzled expression. “Just a fancy word for the process for coloring metals. What color are you thinking of?”

                Oliver looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, “I’d like black if possible? What do you think?”

                “I think it would look good on you,” he said, holding the silver ring up to Oliver’s ear. “This weight right?”

                Oliver nodded and smiled, face lightly brushing against Doom’s hand and the earring. “Your ears look like they’re just about healed,” Schneider said, grasping the earring lightly as he observed it. “Nose too,” he added. Doom retracted his hand quickly as Richard returned, his excitement obvious. “These are nice Oliver, do you think Till would like these,” he asked, practically bouncing on his heels.

                Oliver held Doom’s gaze for a moment, his response to Richard slightly delayed. “Yeah, I think those are good,” he said as he finally looked at Richard. Doom noticed a strange look pass between them before Richard gave Oliver a broad grin and clasped a hand on his shoulder.

                “I’ll get these,” Richard said as he placed the jewelry on the glass between them. As Richard paid for his purchase, Doom turned to Oliver and said, “I’ll put in the order now and they should arrive in about a week or so. Luckily, you caught me right before I sent in for the shipment. You’ll have to leave your number so we can give you a call when they come in.” Doom pushed a notepad and pen towards him, patiently waiting as Oliver wrote it down.

                “Which ones did you go with,” Richard asked, peering into the case. Oliver pointed at the slim black pair Doom still held, smiling sheepishly. “Those should look nice on you babe.”

                Doom noted the strange pronunciation again as Oliver rolled his eyes. Oliver turned to Schneider and thanked him, as Richard paid for his earrings. Doom couldn’t help but feel there was something off between them. He didn’t question it as he secured Richard’s purchase in a small plastic bag. He passed it to Richard, thanking the both of them for their business.

                Richard took the bag, waving goodbye and Oliver simply nodded briefly before following Richard out. There was definitely something strange about Oliver’s mood but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

                “The lovebirds keep their hands off each other long enough to get anything? Such a nice couple,” Paul remarked, waggling his eyebrows as he entered the room again.

                Doom huffed at him and asked, “Don’t you have _anything_ to do?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rearranged chapters 4, 5, and 6 so that the transition is smoother.


	6. Sonderzustellung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited 2/21/17

                Schneider relished his time off from work. As much as he liked his job, he loved playing music more. An added bonus to being away from the shop was escaping the ridiculousness that was sometimes Flake, but mostly Paul. Paul was insistent on having a “bring your child to work day” which was partly absurd because he had no children but also because he insisted that Dmitri (the mouse) was his son.

                In fact, no one in the shop had any children, much less a significant other. Paul had no children, his explanation brief; a failed marriage was enough to put him off dating for a while. Flake was not dating anyone currently, or remotely interested in anyone as far as he knew. Of course, Flake’s love life wouldn’t be any of his business even if he was seeing someone since he was never be one to boast about his personal affairs.

                Not that it took a lot to impress Flake, he just showed little interest in romantic affairs. He preferred to focus on his work and the company of his friends, hardly ever deterring from his priorities. Simply put, it took a lot to distract Flake. He supposed that was one of the reasons he found Flake to be so similar to himself.

                Schneider was hardly one for casual encounters aside from the occasional drunken tryst, and even those were seldom occurrences. He preferred a more traditional approach to courting; steadily getting to know each other over thoughtful and meaningful dates. Call it old-fashioned but as he got older, Doom preferred it that way. His method of dating hadn’t resulted in any mice-children so he had to be doing something correctly.

                He rolled out of bed and shuffled towards the kitchen in search of breakfast. Pouring himself a glass of orange juice, he thought about what he should do for the rest of the day. Considering he had no pressing issues to attend to, he planned to relax on his day off. After a few minutes tinkering about in the kitchen, he cooked himself a simple breakfast of boiled eggs and buttered toast.

                After finishing his meal, he moved to his drum set, sitting down behind it for the first time in about a week. He held the drumsticks loosely, a strange sense of calm settling over him as he started his warm up exercises. Doom took advantage of the time of day, knowing that most of his neighbors were at work. He reveled in the fact that he didn’t have to hold back for once, letting loose on the instrument. He lost track of time, only stopping when his arms were too sore to continue and his stomach was growling. He quickly showered and got dressed, wanting to get outside before it got cool for the evening. He pulled on sneakers and a windbreaker, checking the time as he left his apartment. Four o’ clock wasn’t too late to go out he supposed. Anyone working a nine to five shift would be coming back soon and banging on either the walls or their ceilings to get Doom to stop drumming so loudly.

                Before he left the building, he made sure to check his mailbox and found a medium sized brown envelope. He tried to recall ordering anything special but nothing came to mind. Doom made his way back to his apartment to leave his mail behind, curious as to what was in the package. He tried frisking the package but yielded no results; whatever the contents were, they were wrapped in bubble wrap. He tore open the envelope as soon as he got inside, dumping the contents onto a nearby counter.

                He frowned at the bubble wrapped wads, picking up one and pulling at the edges before finally ripping it. Nestled inside were a small pair of black hoop earrings. He was confused, usually shop supplies didn’t come to his apartment but went to the parlor. To confirm his suspicions, he opened two more of the bundled-up packages and more jewelry fell out. Why was it delivered to his apartment?

                He vaguely remembered calling in his order, but didn’t remember much else due to the fact that he was distracted while making the phone call. Why was he distracted? He had to think about it for a minute before remembering that Paul’s idea for bringing “children” to work was most likely what did it. Of course. He must have recited his home address instead of the shop address while listening to Paul and Flake banter about the idea.

                He tried to recall what the black earrings were for, as the rest of the order was strictly supplies to be restocked. Instantly, the answer sprang to mind; they belonged to Oliver. He hadn’t planned on going into the shop that day and then they would be closed for the weekend, as Paul and Flake had planned on going away for the weekend to visit their friend, Aljoscha.

                Doom eyed his phone for a moment, pondering on whether or not to call Oliver to inform him of his arrival. Going to the shop wouldn’t hurt him but he had planned to just relax and go out for a bit to enjoy the pleasant autumn weather while it lasted. He decided if he had Oliver’s phone number anywhere in his apartment, he would call him but if not, the call would wait until the shop was open again.

                Schneider rifled through his belongings quickly, checking the pockets of his jacket but found nothing. The only other place it could be was either in his pants pockets that he had worn that day or his wallet. He opened his wallet and upon checking the billfold, a folded piece of scrap paper drifted out. He unfolded it to find Oliver’s name neatly looped across the top of the paper and a phone number beneath. He picked up his phone, took a deep breath, and started to dial the number listed. It wouldn’t kill him to stop in the shop momentarily for a customer.

                It rang three times before anyone answered and Schneider nearly dropped the phone when whoever responded, shouted into the receiver. “What the fuck,” he muttered to himself, holding the receiver away from his ear.

                “Richard give me the phone!”

                A bang followed the yelling and just as Doom was about to hang up and call again later, a breathless ‘hello?’ issued from the other end.

                “Um, hello,” Doom tried, unsure of what the hell was happening but grateful that he remained unaware.

                What sounded like an audible slap came through the phone and Doom held the phone at arm’s length again.

                “I’m sorry,” the voice replied, tinny and faraway. “Stop being an idiot,” it insisted before directing the next sentence to Doom. “Hello, sorry, this is Oliver.”

                “Oliver, yeah hi, um this is Schneider. I just wanted to-,” he was cut off by a shushing noise that sounded vaguely like static. What the fuck, he thought to himself.

                “Ah Schneider, guten Tag! Wie geht's,” Oliver asked, sounding pleasantly surprised.

                Schneider raised his voice, making sure Oliver could hear him over the commotion before continuing, “I’m doing well, and you?” He waited for Oliver’s response then resumed his train of thought. “I just wanted to call you and let you know your jewelry has finally arrived.”

                “Oh that’s great news,” he exclaimed as the background noise finally died down. “I’ve been looking forward to getting it now that my ears are healed up. Are you at the shop now?”

                Schneider paused for a moment, dreading the idea of returning to the Siamese duo. “No, I’m not actually. There was a bit of a mix up with the shipping.”

                Oliver sensed his hesitation before asking, “Is everything okay?”

                Doom heard the slight tinge of worry in his tone, hurriedly reassuring him. “No, no everything’s fine, I got them delivered to my place by accident. Tell you what, if you aren’t busy, we can meet up and I’ll give them to you.”

                Oliver was immediately taken aback by the offer. “Oh, is the shop closed on the weekends?”

                Schneider shut his eyes tightly, wary he had been too forward. He had nearly forgotten Oliver’s boyfriend, although how he managed to do that when the man had nearly blown out his ear drum a minute ago was an impressive feat.

                “Ja, this weekend we are. My mistake, we open again on Monday though, if you don’t mind the wait,” Doom said.

                “I’ll come and pick them up, I don’t have anything on my schedule right now,” Oliver replied, the banging noise starting again. “Where is a good place for you,” he asked, trying to speak over it.

                Schneider quickly reviewed places that were easy to travel to, not too far away from the shop. “How about right outside Alexanderplatz? If that’s not too far away,” Doom said, trying to finish their conversation before Oliver got caught up in whatever was going on.

                “Perfect, I can be there in a half hour. See you soon,” Oliver said, his tone noticeably different.

                Doom raised an eyebrow but figured it had something to do with the chaos at his residence. “All right, tschüss!”

                He hung up the phone and let out a sharp exhale. He was grateful Oliver hadn’t taken his urgency the wrong way and was going to meet up with him after all. He couldn’t quite figure out what all the commotion in the background was about, all he knew was that Richard was somehow involved. After a few brief moments, he resigned himself to the fact that it wasn’t his business anyways. It took him a moment to realize he could have been interrupting something between the two. His eyes widened at the thought of that as he quickly pushed the idea out of his mind. If they were busy then surely Oliver wouldn’t have answered the phone or agreed to meet up with Doom. Right?

-

                “Out,” Oliver threatened. “I’ve got to go.”

                “Oh come on, you’re not upset, are you? I’m just messing around,” Richard whined in reply. He hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the phone conversation; he was more focused on playfully attacking Oliver for interrupting his story.

                Oliver shook his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the older man. “You were being obnoxious but I’m willing to overlook that if you leave,” he said hurriedly. “Sorry, I’m on a schedule.”

                Richard raised his eyebrows, asking, “Since when? I thought you didn’t have any plans?”

                “An unexpected change of plans,” Oliver said. “I said I’d be there in a half hour, so I’ve got to get out of here now. We’ll catch up tomorrow, ja? Then you can tell me the rest of the story with you and Till okay?”

                Richard sighed deeply, frowning as he pushed himself off the sofa. “A whole day, I’m going to explode if I have to wait _that_ long,” he said.

                “Don’t be so dramatic, if you need to, call me later okay? I don’t know how long I’ll be out for or I’d have let you stay here. Unless you really want to wait here for a few hours,” Oliver offered, even though he knew Richard would be bored out of his mind for that long.

                “No, I’ll find something else to do,” he said with a melodramatic sigh. “I’ll just have to suffer the wait,” Richard joked. He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it, closing it as he turned to leave. He made a mental note to ask Oliver about why he was suddenly departing, deciding that it would be better to inquire later. “Tschüss,” he called over his shoulder and waved. “Oh I left the Klöße and roast in the fridge,” he added before leaving. Oliver smiled to himself as he gathered his things, Richard couldn’t help but leave behind food whenever he visited. He looked forward to eating what would be lunch and dinner over the next couple of days.

\---

                As Doom made his way out of the train station, he searched for Oliver. It couldn’t be too hard to find a blond man nearly two meters tall in the crowd. Stepping to the side of the entrance to avoid the rush of foot traffic, he scanned the area. No one remotely close to Oliver’s appearance was within the immediate area so he made his way to nearby benches. Schneider’s travel route only took about twenty minutes, he had caught a train almost immediately after arriving at the U-Bahn stop near his apartment.

                Doom couldn’t help but feel a sense of growing anticipation as he watched the thrum of pedestrians hurrying about their travels.  He thought back to his phone call to Oliver, momentarily wondering if he would bring Richard along as well. In Schneider’s mind, it would be pointless, he was merely coming to pick up his earrings. He mentally chided himself, Oliver had the right to bring his boyfriend wherever he wanted. The man was just as much of a paying customer as Oliver was. He chalked it up to annoyance from the commotion from earlier. At least he wasn’t going to the shop again, Doom thought to himself. Paul had been a little too generous with his taunting over the last few days, and while he could handle it, he was not in the mood to deal with it.

                Another quick survey of the throng of people revealed Oliver had not arrived yet, while he reached a hand into his pocket to verify he hadn’t left the jewelry behind. After confirming he had it, Doom began tapping his fingers against his thigh to distract himself. He hadn’t been there long but he was feeling slightly impatient, anxiously watching passerby. He leaned back and stretched his muscles, letting out a small groan as he felt the burn of the inevitable soreness that came along with extended practice sessions.

                “Hello to you too,” Oliver replied from behind him. He turned to see Oliver removing headphones as he walked around the bench and sat down next to Schneider. He reached into his pocket, fiddling with the cassette player until the faint sound of music stopped. Doom cast an appreciative eye over his outfit; a black turtleneck sweater, black slacks, heavy construction boots reminiscent of combat boots, and a worn leather jacket. It was different than what he had seen Oliver wear previously but still suited him.

                As they made eye contact, Doom greeted him, noticing that Oliver’s eyeliner was smudged as if he had been sleeping. He smiled slightly, unable to stop himself from looking around to see if Richard was in tow.

                Oliver looked behind him, wondering what had suddenly caught Schneider’s attention. “Did I miss something?”

                Schneider chuckled as he shook his head. “Oh no, I just thought I saw someone I knew. Turns out it wasn’t them,” he lied quickly, silently cursing that he was caught. “How have you been,” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

                “Good, can’t say I can complain,” Oliver replied, a smile forming on his lips. “Although my stomach might disagree with me.” He had rushed out of the house to catch the train, totally forgoing the food Richard had brought over.

                Doom pushed up his sleeve and looked at his wrist, sighing when he realized he forgot to put on his watch. “I suppose it’s just about dinner time,” he said, trying to remember when he last ate.

                “Are you hungry? I’m going to grab some food if you’d like to come with,” Oliver said. “If you aren’t busy, that is,” he added hastily.

                Schneider surveyed Oliver’s expression for a moment, trying to hide his surprise. “Yeah, I haven’t eaten in a while.”

                Oliver shyly grinned then stood up, jamming his hands into his pockets to protect them from the chill of the autumn breeze. “Let’s go then. Is there anything in particular you want,” he asked politely.

                Schneider nearly had to cover his mouth to keep from chuckling, Oliver was being borderline formal although there was no need for it. “I’m not picky,” he replied before following Oliver as he led the way back towards the train station. They passed the bustling crowd of people, Oliver glancing behind him occasionally to see if Doom was keeping up. His strides were much longer than that of Paul’s but he was used to walking with Flake as well, who walked with the intent that he had to be somewhere ten minutes ago.

                “There’s a pretty good pizza place, not too far from here,” Oliver said, once they cleared the crowd around Alexanderplatz. As Schneider fell into step next to him, he asked “Are you okay with pizza?”

                Schneider nodded at him, anxiety kicking in once again as he realized that he was going somewhere with a client. There was no real customer policy but there was no real need for one before; Paul and Flake were interested in each other, if anyone, and Schneider often didn’t spend enough time with clients to get to know them personally. Of course, he had repeat customers who often came in for custom consultations but usually piercings took fifteen minutes or less. Ordering jewelry warranted some small talk but the main focus was on the actual jewelry and shipment details.

                Doom realized he hadn’t given Oliver his earrings yet but decided to hold off until they reached their destination. Had Oliver already forgotten why he was there so quickly? However, he was happy to be getting food, he had not eaten since that morning and his stomach was angrily protesting now. There was a comfortable silence between the two as they continued on their way, Doom slowly realizing that this particular side of town looked very familiar.

                Oliver slowed down as he reached for the door of the restaurant, holding it open for Doom with a shy grin. Doom swiftly stepped over the threshold, glancing around at the diner. He frowned at the grubby looking counters but decided to give it a chance. He slid into a presentable looking booth and Oliver followed closely behind.

                “It doesn’t look like much, but they’ve got some really good pizza,” he said quietly as if he could read Schneider’s thoughts. He pulled a menu from behind a dented napkin holder and pushed it towards Doom.

                He took the menu, hoping to keep a neutral expression as he read it over briefly. He hadn’t meant to offend Oliver, unsure if he had made a face or if the other man was just shy. Schneider glanced over the options before deciding to take Oliver’s word and try a pizza. A waiter approached their table and took their drink orders; a Sprite for Doom and a Spezi for Oliver.

                Schneider tried his best to concentrate on the menu, stealing glances at Oliver ever so often. He eyed him curiously, wondering where his boyfriend was and if he would mind that he was having dinner with someone else. While the hole in the wall diner was nothing to be upset about, he had no idea how Richard would react to that knowledge. Schneider had no interest in Oliver, although he had to admit the other man was very attractive. As Oliver shrugged off his jacket, Doom couldn’t help but notice his arms, soft cotton knit stretched over the muscles that were bound to be there. He dropped his gaze to the menu again, rereading the specialty pizzas section in an attempt to make sense of the words there.

_Tomato, basil, mozzarella, spinach, garlic._

                Oliver stashed the jacket between himself and the wall, adjusting the collar of his sweater before picking up his menu and scanning it. The piercings he picked really did suit his features quite well.

_Provolone, onions, peppers, olives._

                Oliver was mouthing the items on the menu as he read through it, he would look nice with a lip ring as well; something simple to match his other piercings.

_Egg, mozzarella, mushrooms, peppers._

              Schneider watched as the other man flipped the menu over, glancing at the opposite side as slender fingers skimmed over the page. Oliver kept his eyes down, seemingly oblivious as Doom took in his features; black liner against long dark lashes.

_Wurst, jalapenos, special spices._

                Schneider vaguely processed the words he read. He tried again.

                “Schneider?”

_Salami, ham, artichokes, tomatoes._

                “Schneider? Do you know what you want to order,” the words asked, cutting into his reverie.

_Chicken, bacon, onion._

                He looked up to find Oliver staring at him, greenish-brown eyes level with his. “It looks good,” he blurted out quickly.

                “What? The menu?”

                “Y-yes,” Doom replied, only half aware of what he was saying. He hoped whatever he was saying made sense and instead of what he was thinking.

                Oliver raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Well you can’t eat the menu,” he said, bending the laminated pages with his hands to demonstrate his point. ”I think the waiter wants to take our order,” he said, glancing behind Schneider. Doom opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw Oliver’s eyes trail towards his piercing.

                As if on cue, the waiter appeared at their table with a notepad at the ready. They made their orders; Schneider was still sort of spaced out and he found he could not remember what he had just ordered. _What the hell is going on with me_ , Schneider thought to himself.   

                Schneider looked down, pulling the Sprite towards him to busy his hands and took a few sips. “Flake and Paul live around here,” Schneider said, trying to clear his mind.

                Oliver perked up at the mention of their names. “Ja, I think I saw one of them in here a few weeks ago actually. It was the taller one with the glasses,” he said, recalling how he briefly spotted him the last time he came to the diner.

                “Oh really? That must have been Flake,” he said. “Only one of them?”

                “Ja, he came in to pick up an order, I think,” Oliver replied. “I just looked up and saw him, so I waved.”

                Doom was surprised Flake acknowledged Oliver, much less paid him any attention. How did Flake even recognize him, Oliver had only visited the shop twice and was Schneider’s client. Oliver hadn’t shown any interest in getting tattooed and as far as he knew they had hardly interacted. Maybe Flake remembered him because Doom had passed on his compliment about the painting hanging in his room. Still, it seemed strange for Flake to notice him outside the shop.

                Schneider drummed his fingers against the edge of the tabletop, his foot tapping along as well. He suddenly remembered he still had yet to give Oliver his earrings, letting out a small ‘oh’ in realization. “Since we’re waiting, I might as well give you your jewelry. I didn’t want to give it to you while we were walking here just because it’s such a small package,” he said, retrieving the package from his pocket and pushing it across the table.  

                Oliver picked up the earrings, grinning as he looked at the new jewelry. “Finally,” he said, holding them up to the light. “Can I wear them right away or do I have do something special with them? You said they were specially colored, right,” he asked, tearing his gaze away from them to look up.

                “Oh no, just clean them off first,” Schneider laughed. “They come sanitized from the factory but I would clean them off before wearing them just in case.” Oliver smirked at how quickly Doom could switch to a business-like matter when it came to piercings. “And wash your hands before handling them of course,” he added after a moment.

                Oliver noticed a very subtle change in Doom’s tone; if he hadn’t been paying attention Oliver would have missed it, as he asked, “How about your friend’s jewelry? Is it working out well?”

                “I think so, I haven’t had a chance to ask him about it yet.” He tilted his head to the side for a moment, trying to recall if Richard had mentioned it at all. “I hadn’t really seen him this past week,” he said, flipping the earrings between his fingers.

                “Oh, my mistake,” Schneider gasped, his gaze flitting around the restaurant for a moment before settling on Oliver again. “I’m sorry for asking about your friend then,” he apologized quickly. Doom thought back to the brief phone call from earlier, considering the background noise to be some sort of argument between the two. Had he just broken up some sort of lover’s quarrel?

                “Sorry for asking,” Oliver repeated; his tone more of a question, slightly perplexed as to why Schneider had enunciated _Freund_ the way he did.

                "Yes?"

_Asking what?_

                It dawned on Oliver that Richard had presented himself as his boyfriend to Paul and he must have told Doom the same thing. He began laughing much to Doom’s wide eyed expression; halfway stuck between surprise and fear of offending Oliver. “Schneider,” he managed between laughs, “Schneider, there’s no reason to be sorry!” He threw his head back and dissolved into laughter again before continuing. “Did P-Paul tell you, ha, that we were, we are d-dating?”

                Schneider looked slightly mortified at Oliver’s reaction before slowly nodding at him, still mystified as to what was happening. “ _Ja_ ,” he said slowly, watching the other man trying to compose himself.

                He laughed again then took a deep breath, sighing heavily. “Oh definitely not,” Oliver replied finally as his chuckling subsided. “Richard wasn’t being serious, he’s already got a boyfriend.” He pocketed the earrings before clarifying, “One that isn’t me.”

                Schneider looked baffled for a moment before he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “Richard is… dating someone else. So… you never dated him?”

                “Oh no, we’re strictly platonic,” he said cheerfully, a sly smirk in place. “He isn’t my type,” he said with a wink.

                Before Oliver could elaborate more, the waiter returned with a large tray in hand, lowering it to their table. He placed it between the two, giving both of them their respective pizzas and extra napkins. Oliver turned his attention to his pizza, cutting and gently prying a piece free. Schneider sighed quietly to himself, feeling a little relief that the pizza had arrived, successfully putting an end to their awkward conversation.

                Doom looked down to see which pizza he had ordered, finding tomatoes and spinach were visible among the melted cheese. Pity, he had hoped to have ordered something with a bit of meat and substance. He picked up a slice, cautiously blowing on it before taking a bite. It was surprisingly delicious, tang of the tomato sauce and herbs contrasting delightfully with the gooey cheese. They lapsed into silence once again, with only the occasional sounds of knifes scraping against pizza dishes and soda slurped through straws.

                Oliver finished first, satisfied grin in place. He had eaten about half of his pizza and leaned back, small belch escaping his lips followed by an amused chuckle. “Sorry,” he said as Doom suppressed his laughter through a mouthful of pizza crust.

                “Nothing to apologize for,” he said, once he took a sip of soda. “This was pretty tasty,” he said, gesturing to the pizza as he finished his slice. As Oliver nodded in agreement, the waiter showed up to take care of their leftovers and leave the check. They agreed to pay for their respective meals and split the check, then stood to leave. Doom spared a glance at Oliver sliding his jacket back on and placing his headphones around his neck.

                They left the restaurant and stood underneath the awning for a moment. Doom spoke first, thanking Oliver for showing him the hidden diner. Oliver thanked him in return, gracious that the piercer had traveled to deliver his jewelry. They made some small talk as they walked the short distance back to the nearest train station, departing once they were underground. Doom smiled to himself for a moment, when he thought of how Oliver alternated between shy to almost downright flirtatious. Perhaps he was warming up to Schneider after all.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Freund – is the word for friend (male) and boyfriend in German, hence the slight mix-up above.  
> **I wasn't lying when I said _slow_ build.


	7. Dangerous

                He sat down next to Till in a dimly lit booth, tucked away into a corner a few feet from the stage. Till looked a little anxious as he took the beer from Oliver, chugging half of it immediately. Tinny synth sounds reverberated through the club and a single spotlight shone down on the center of the stage. Oliver surveyed the darkened club, a hush falling over the eagerly waiting crowd.

                A bass and drum beat kicked in and a figure was visible in the shadows, slowly stalking towards the single light. He heard a small gasp from Till but kept his eyes on the figure on stage. Black metal bars came into view as the light's intensity grew. The figure kept a head of platinum colored strands down as strong hands gripped the metal, then slid downwards revealing silver handcuffs.

_The things you do, aren't good for my health…_

                His eyes snapped up, staring intently into the crowd; stark white and shocking. It was Richard. He was wearing all black, a soft mesh draped loosely over his shoulders as a robe and fitted black pants, contrasting with his newly blond hair. He swayed his hips to the beat, mouthing the words of the song as he stared out into the crowd. Richard held out his handcuffed wrists, palms open as he dropped to his knees.

_And I wouldn't want it any other way…_

                He shrugged the fabric off, shadows of the bars dancing across the exposed muscles of his now bare chest and arms. He looked almost ethereal, trapped in the makeshift cage and beckoning to the audience. He looked towards the light above him, revealing a spiked collar with much longer spikes than the others he owned.

                The audience could not keep their eyes off him, and only a few noticed the metal and leather apparatus behind him. Richard’s gaze was far away as he dropped onto all fours, crawling towards the edge of the stage. He leaned back for a moment before rocking back onto the heels of his feet and standing up slowly. He approached the stairs on the side, cautiously stepping down into the audience.

                A few cheers of excitement followed as he walked further into the club. Richard made his stride slow and deliberate, cool gaze observing the faces in front of him. He looked almost thoughtful as he paced between the tables, as if searching for someone could handle what he was prepared to give. The chains between his cuffs jingled slightly as he dropped his hands.

                Captivated stares followed him as he made his way through the crowd, before he finally selected someone. He bent down to eye level and draped his cuffed hands behind the man’s head, smirking as he did so. Once he straightened himself up and turned away to leave, the man was putty in his hands. He got up abruptly, nearly tripping over his own feet as he trailed Richard to the stage. He wore small, spandex shorts that left little to the imagination, pewter combat boots, and heavy eye makeup. His head was shaved on both sides, only leaving a dark teal Mohawk in the center.

                Once they were both center stage, Richard dropped to his knees once again, holding his wrists up. He held a small silver key, glinting in the spotlight as the man he chose unlocked the cuffs with trembling hands. Richard stood up again, wrapping one open cuff around the man’s wrist. The man kept his eyes trained on Richard, not wanting to look away for one moment.

_Dangerous…_

                He led the man towards the cage, hips swinging slightly as the music continued. Richard then beckoned the man to the metal contraption; reminiscent of an examination table but much more luxuriously padded. He fastened the other end of the cuff to a bar before dragging a large hand across his chest. The man sighed heavily, the frustration of not being allowed to touch Richard obvious in his expression.

_The way you leave me wanting more…_

                Richard traced his fingers along the man’s bicep, lifting his other arm to be strapped down as well. Richard leaned in close as he secured him, nearly nuzzling the stranger’s neck as he did so. The man shivered, metal around his wrists clinging loudly as he strained against his bonds. Richard grinned, a hand lingering on his jaw for a second before he turned away.

_Dangerous…_

                Turning his white eyes to the crowd once more, he strode off stage again. The man in handcuffs whimpered audibly, all but helplessly watching from afar as Richard moved deeper into the crowd. He walked through the opposite side of the club, slowing every now and then to touch a club patron. Finally his gaze fell upon Till, eyes widening as he approached them.

_That’s what I want you for…_

                He put an arm on either side of the chair, muscles tensing as he gripped it. Richard slid down his legs slowly, shyly making eye contact as he rose again. Till let out a small gasp of surprise as Richard straddled him. Richard shifted his weight to his hips and leaned backwards, gracefully arching his back so that he could look back to the stage, his abdomen visibly tightening as he tensed up.

_Dangerous…_

                The man strapped down onstage looked on helplessly, shivering in the spotlight. He wanted so badly to run his hands, his mouth, anything he could over Richard’s stomach then. Richard righted himself on Till’s lap, the well-developed muscles flexing in the low lighting. His hands caressed Till’s face as he rocked forward, shifting all of his weight onto Till. Till looked on in astonishment, reveling in the feel of Richard’s warn, rough fingertips. Oliver was amazed at the intimacy between them; Richard was seemingly unaffected by the audience there, lavishing all his attention on Till. He wanted to look away to give them their privacy but remembered that Richard was putting on a show for all to see.

_When I am in your arms…_

                Till lifted his arms to embrace Richard, shy smile in place as he watched Richard’s reaction. The younger man ghosted his lips across Till’s cheek, whispering something in his ear; meant for him alone. He glanced over his shoulder at the stage, the man watching them longingly; wishing he could be in Till’s place instead of trapped and bound.  

                Richard caught one of Till’s hands in his own, dragging it down the center of his chest towards his navel. Till was mesmerized, smile playing about his features until Richard dropped his hand and climbed off his lap. “Tease,” he murmured under his breath, smile still in place. Richard winked at him, then at Oliver before making his way back to the audience member he had left tied down.

                He sauntered onstage, the hungry eyes of the crowd waiting to see what he would do next. The man smiled nervously as Richard crouched down and reached for his leg, hoping Richard would finally touch him. Instead, Richard pulled his ankle over to the metal bar that ran behind the table and fastened the leather straps around his leg. He repeated the process with the other leg as the man sighed in frustration although he was clearly enjoying what Richard was doing.

_Dangerous…_

                Richard disappeared behind him for a moment, emerging a few seconds later with a flogger in hand earning loud cheers from a couple close to the front of the stage. He let the fringed leather dangle just above the man’s chest as the man pleaded with him, words lost to the music. He stepped closer, leaning in to whisper a question into the man’s ear. He eagerly nodded as Richard brushed the tips of the flogger against his sides.

_Know I will come to harm…_

                Richard turned to face the crowd again, crossing his arms over his broad chest, creating quite an imposing figure. More people cheered him on this time as he surveyed the crowd, letting his gaze linger on a few people. Quickly glancing at the man, he flung his arm out, letting the flogger drop across his stomach. The man shivered in pleasure, body trembling as Richard withdrew the implement, stepping close to replace it with his hand.

                He caressed the area for a moment, then dragged the leather across his tender stomach for a few moments before striking again. The man cried out, his skin already taking on a slight pink tinge. Richard pushed the flogger into his hand, then moved to cover the man’s body with his own. His white eyes were fixed on the man’s face as he slid down the man’s body, kneeling in front of him once again.

                His movements were almost catlike as he crawled to the side of the bondage table, hoisting himself up on one side. It was clear that some of his movements were intended for the audience’s viewing pleasure, this one especially. However, the Mohawked man seemed to be blissfully unaware of this fact, trying his best to watch Richard from his limited position.

                Richard swung a leg onto a foothold, smirking over his shoulder at the audience, then swung his other leg into position on the other side of the table. Richard’s pants clung to his form, showing off his well-defined legs and buttocks. Richard grasped just above the man’s head, holding his body barely an inch away. The man groaned, needing to be closer to the heat Richard’s body emitted, closer to the smooth skin, closer to _him_. He could feel Richard’s breath tickling his face and leaned into it. “Please,” he whined, trying to press his body against Richard.

                He barely dropped himself a centimeter, taunting the man beneath him as he did so.

                “Please, please, please,” he begged, words running together as he shut his eyes tightly.

                Richard smiled, then decided to oblige the man; nearly squatting as he lowered himself to the man’s waist. Richard’s breath was hot against the man’s stomach for a second before he pulled himself up, making sure not to leave a single shred of space between them. As he reached eye level, he cradled the man’s head in his hands and brought their foreheads together. Up close, the white contacts were even more unsettling as there were no signs of the dark blue that lay beneath.

                “Oh god,” he breathed as he realized Richard was holding himself up with just his legs. He became hyper aware of Richard’s skin pressed against his; his body _felt_ even better than it looked. Without warning, Richard dropped into a back bend again; thighs tightly wrapped around the man. Richard’s stamina and flexibility were incredibly impressive; people whistling as he hung there, suspended in a trance. His hand seemingly moved of its own accord; first, to brush his hair back off his face, then, it slowly slid down the man’s chest. “ _Aaaah fuck_ ,” he whined, dragging the words out and gradually getting louder as Richard’s hand inched downward.

                “Herr, damn it, Herr Sven,” he yelped, voice cracking halfway through his sentence. Richard grinned, winking at someone in the front row before straightening up to face the man he held down. He rose to his full height then, standing on the footholds with his hands just barely skimming the top of the man’s head.

                The man dropped the flogger he held, his whole body quivering with anticipation as he tilted his head up to gaze longingly at Richard. It landed soundly, fringe thwacking against the ground as it rolled a few inches away. Richard’s eyebrows furrowed, his expression turning to one of displeasure and he eased back down into a crouch. He dismounted from the table, shaking his head as he retrieved the flogger from the floor. He waggled a painted finger at the man, as if to reprimand him for his mistake.

                Richard stood squarely in front of the table with the flogger in hand, ready to punish him. Just before dropping the flogger against his skin, he spun around and slithered down his body. He held onto the waistband of the man’s shorts to support himself, tugging them just low enough to drive him crazy. Richard took special care to make sure the flogger moved over the man’s groin at an excruciatingly slow pace, some of the fringe tickling at his pelvis. He cried out in pleasure and Richard smiled like it was music to his ears.

                “You’ve dropped something,” he said, his voice light in a sing-song tone. “I think you need to learn a lesson,” he continued, wide smile on his face. Their conversation was lost on the audience as the music drowned it out.

                “Yes Herr, I’m sorry,” the man replied quickly, nodding fervently in agreement. “I do need to learn from my mistake, Herr.” He licked his lips, eyes flicking rapidly between Richard’s face and the flogger. Richard held it high above his head, then quickly snapped it against his chest. A few moments passed and he struck the man twice, one after another. The man struggled in vain, a whimper escaping his lips. Richard raked his nails across the sensitive skin then flicked his wrist, bringing the flogger down again, much harder this time to elicit a moan of pain from the man.

                Another strike to his lower abdomen left his skin a reddish color, welts starting to faintly form there. He stepped onto the table again, placing a foot on either side of the bound man’s legs. Richard murmured something as he caressed the man’s face resulting in more nodding. He reached behind the table, pulling some sort of metal lever before clambering up to the footholds again.

                The table tilted backwards, slowly descending on an angle until it was parallel to the ground. The man opened his mouth to say something else but Richard shushed him with a single finger placed over his lips. Richard dipped his head, breath ghosting over the man’s cheek, blond strands falling forward to create a makeshift curtain between them and the crowd. Richard held the other man’s face, staring right into his eyes, hardly leaving any room between them.

                Richard’s body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, glistening as he pushed himself down on the man underneath him. The spotlight illuminated the graceful slope of his shoulders and back down to the sinuous curve of his ass. The man gasped, something halfway between agony and ecstasy as Richard palmed his shorts, warmth flooding throughout his body.

                He smiled knowingly as he wrapped his arms around the man, cradling his head between his hands. Richard whispered something in the man’s ear, the man slightly smiling in response although he seemed to only vaguely register what was going on. He seemed faraway, drifting along on a pleasant high. When Richard started to pull away, the man tried to move closer as best he could; wanting to stay in physical contact. Richard withdrew, dismounting the table and hopping onto the stage. He ran his fingertips lightly down the center of the man’s arm, lingering on the handcuffs for a moment. Finally he freed the man from his Velcro and metal restraints, offering a steady hand to help the man offstage. The man took Richard’s hand and stepped down shakily, clearly still amazed by the effect the show had on him. Richard assisted him to the edge of the stage, gesturing towards the stairs before returning to the center. The crowd began cheering and applauding Richard as the song drew to a close, spotlight dimming slightly as he flashed a jaunty grin at the audience. He raised his eyebrows at Till to communicate something only they could understand. Till laughed in response, which was apparently a satisfactory response. Richard clasped his hands together and gave a small nod before disappearing back stage.

                Oliver knocked back two more drinks as he and Till waited for Richard to return to the club. Till held off, choosing to only finish what was left of his lukewarm beer. “Tastes just like piss,” Till said, grimacing as he swilled around the small amount left in his glass. “Serves me right for getting distracted,” he said, chuckling to himself.

                Oliver couldn’t help but laugh too, although it was partly due to how fast he was drinking. “I think everyone was distracted.”

                Till agreed, gulping down the rest of his drink, then looked around in the hopes of spotting Richard. A few seconds later, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around Till’s waist. Richard rested his chin on Till’s shoulder, greeting him with a kiss to the cheek. “Hello lovely,” he purred.

                Oliver looked away abashedly, taking another sip of his drink to give them a moment of privacy.

                “Hallo to you too Olli,” Richard called to him. Oliver raised his glass slightly in greeting then smiled widely.

                “He looks a bit drunk,” Richard whispered to Till while Oliver continued to chug his beer.

                “I think he’s kind of tipsy at least,” Till replied. “I would have been too probably if I didn’t have to leave.”

                Richard groaned in response as he said, “I forgot. Damn, you’ve already got to go?”

                “Unfortunately yes, I’ve got a long trip ahead of me. I’d feel awful if I put off seeing my mother,” he frowned.

                “I understand. Give her my regards,” Richard said, leaning in to peck him on the lips.

                Till smoothed Richard’s hair back and nodded. “I will. You were amazing tonight by the way. We’ll catch up when I come back all right?”

                Richard couldn’t quite shake the kicked puppy expression he wore as he waved goodbye to Till.

                Oliver bid Till farewell with a nod and wave before turning his attention to Richard. “You look as if someone’s died Richard, are you all right?”

                As his wave faltered, he sighed deeply. “I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

                “An answer to?”

                Richard frowned as he sat down with Oliver, picking up the beer Till had left for him. “It’s complicated. Sort of. Well, not really I guess … we’re planning on moving in together,” he mumbled, more to the table than to Oliver.

                “I was already under the assumption that you and Till lived together anyway,” Oliver said simply after Richard finished.

                Richard choked slightly, spluttering over his next sentence. “No, ah, not yet. We haven’t exactly reached that stage.” He busied himself by taking another sip of beer from the glass he held, keeping his eyes down. He cleared his throat nervously then turned his attention to the polish chipping on his nails.

                “Ah,” Oliver said, sensing Richard’s sudden shyness, “you’re afraid.”

                “Absolutely not,” Richard exclaimed, finally snapping his gaze up to meet Oliver’s. His expression was fierce for all of a second before he sighed deeply, mouth dropping into a slight frown. “I might be a little,” he admitted.

                Richard was reluctant when it came to commitment, it had taken a while for him to admit to himself that he really felt comfortable and happy with Till. There was the initial, instant attraction that drew them together which frightened Richard at first; it had been an overwhelming experience. It was unexpected how quickly they adapted to each other and it took Richard quite some time to adjust to the idea. He felt a deep connection with Till but he still could not quite shake the apprehension he felt. "We've been together for a little over two years but it just feels so sudden," he said, trailing off thoughtfully.

                "Have you talked to him about how you feel," Oliver asked.

                Richard began tracing shapes on the table as he mumbled, "yes."

                "And?"

                "He's perfectly fine with waiting," he sighed. "That's the thing! I ... I don't wait to make him wait. He shouldn't have to, Till's been so good to me," he said, frowning. “He understands why, it’s just that I want to get past feeling apprehensive. I don’t want him to tire of waiting for me to make up my mind,” he said quietly, watching drops of condensation slide down the glass.

                Oliver thought about his previous experience with relationships, trying to offer some sort of advice or consolation but found he came up short.  He had only moved in with someone once but their relationship quickly disintegrated after that. He tried to clear his head of those particular thoughts before he spoke again. “I’m not any relationship expert but I think Till is more than understanding. He does genuinely care for you, that much is obvious” he reassured him. “There’s no mistaking that, especially after tonight.”

                “I know,” he sighed, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. “I know,” he repeated, as if he were trying to convince himself. “I’ll get over it soon, I’m sure.”

                “Was this what you mentioned the other day about Till?”

                Richard nodded.

                “I see. It’s going to work out, just give yourself time. You’re being too hard on yourself,” Oliver said.

                “Yeah, I figured that. I just wanted to make sure I looked at it from Till’s perspective, or at least what could be,” Richard sighed. “Enough about me though, where did you rush off to that day,” Richard asked, his voice much lighter as curiosity crept into his tone. He finally looked up from his drink to find Oliver downing the last of his drink with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Oli?”

                Clinking the empty glass against the table once he was done, he looked at Richard who was waiting patiently for an answer. “Huh?”

                Richard held back a chuckle as he repeated himself. “Two days ago? You were in quite a hurry.”

                “Oh, yeah I went to go pick up something. The earrings I ordered,” he said quickly, dropping his gaze to the empty glass, wishing he still had something left to drink.

                “They finally came in? That’s great, do you have them on?” Richard squinted at Oliver’s ears in the dim lighting.

                Oliver turned his head, showing Richard the new black rings. The dark earrings contrasted nicely against his tan skin and pale blond hair.

                “They look great. So when are you going back,” Richard asked as he leaned in to get a closer look at the steel.

                “Back where?”

                “To the piercer.”

                If Oliver still had something left to drink, he would have spit it out then. He didn’t exactly have any concrete plans to return to Schneider’s shop. He felt his skin grow hot as he realized that he subconsciously associated Schneider with piercings. It was perfectly logical that he did though, Schneider was the only person he had received them from. Mentally, he tried his best to attribute it to that simple fact.

                “Your face is awfully red,” Richard remarked, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “How drunk are you exactly?”

                “I’ve had a bit to drink but I’m all right, I think,” Oliver replied, trying to recall how many drinks he and Till had. “I might be more than a little drunk,” he admitted after he realized he had lost track. “He asked about you, you know,” he ventured shyly.

                “Really? What did he say,” Richard asked, his mood lightening considerably.

                Oliver immediately began talking, wanting to tell him all about what happened but stopped halfway through his first sentence. He was feeling very loose and carefree, a definite side effect of his continuous drinking. Richard gave him a strange look, confused as to why he stopped short. He tried again, hoping that he would keep it somewhat light; he didn’t want to make the conversation all about himself. “He wanted to know how you liked your earrings so far,” he said, daring to glance up at Richard finally. “If they were working out all right.”

                “Oh they’re fine, I quite like them. I’m trying to talk Till into getting something small as well. What were you saying before that,” Richard asked, unfazed by Oliver’s fumbling.

                “I didn’t say anything? We just grabbed a bite to eat and he gave me the jewelry,” Oliver said simply, looking around for a beer or anything else to drink. His eyes widened as he realized he let more information slip then he had meant to. His attempt at casual conversation was failing him.

                Richard caught on instantly and his smile widened, any previous trouble forgotten as he waited for more details. “What was that? You did what?”

                “Lunch, nothing serious,” Oliver insisted, wanting to bury his face in his hands for saying too much already. “We talked a bit and had pizza, then he gave me my earrings,” he explained, refusing to willingly give up anything else. However, after having as much alcohol to drink as he did it was proving to be much harder than usual. “He thought that I was da-,” he cut himself off, not allowing himself to go _there_.

                “What? He thought you what?” Richard was intrigued now, he had never heard of Oliver showing much interest in anyone in the time he had known him. He reached across the table playfully prodding at his arms and chest. “I’m not letting you slide out of this one, you’ve got to tell me what happened!”

                Richard’s excitement was contagious and soon enough Oliver found himself smiling. “No, nothing! He thought, well no, I thought,” he paused, now confused as to what he meant to say a few seconds ago. He smiled bashfully, not wanting to tell Richard what he was thinking. “I thought, no I think … I think that Schneider is attractive,” he finally admitted, hoping that the shadows would hide his blush. Maybe Richard would think him flushed instead of embarrassed for having a bit of a crush.

                “You do? I knew it,” Richard exclaimed excitedly. “You’re awfully red,” he laughed, watching as Oliver turned an even deeper shade of red.

                Oliver buried his face in his hands, trying to contain his laughter as best he could. It did sound funny coming from Richard. He was really starting to feel the drinks he had earlier; his hands felt like lead and his entire body felt overly warm. “It’s because I was drinking,” he said, voice muffled by his own hands.

                “Well, that’s part of it but it’s not the whole reason,” Richard replied, watching Oliver’s bashful reaction. “Nothing to be shy about,” he said, reaching out to nudge Oliver’s hand. “What does he think?”

                Oliver immediately looked up at Richard, eyes slightly wide with worry. “What do you mean? He doesn’t think anything, I think.” He was starting to confuse himself trying to keep up with their conversation. “At least, I hope it’s nothing bad.”

                Richard watched him rambling on for a few moments before speaking up. “You are going to go back aren’t you?”

                Oliver ran his finger around the rim of the empty glass, contemplating the idea. He did like getting his piercings done there and even if he wasn’t going to get anymore, Schneider was still very helpful and knowledgeable. He smiled to himself as he realized that he had admitted that he found the piercer attractive. He would never hear the end of it from Richard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The song referenced here is [Dangerous](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1ZPE0iR0Hc) by Depeche Mode.  
> \- This chapter sat around for much too long.  
> \- Happy birthday to Sir-Not-Appearing-In-This-Chapter!


	8. Christoph

                He gazed down at the small silver studs he had worn previously, wondering whether or not to wear them for the day. Oliver had really grown to like the black hoops, but felt as if something were missing. He picked up one stud, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. He examined it closely, an idea dawning on him. He shuffled into his bathroom, holding up the silver earring to his ear. He turned his head, contemplating how it looked resting just above the hoop. He fiddled with it for a moment, trying to hold it with the tips of his fingers instead; so that he could get a better idea of how it would look.

                It took a minute of readjusting and nearly dropping it down the sink, it was so tiny between his fingers. He finally held it at the right angle, his fingers were no longer obscuring his view of the stud. He tilted his head, looking at the differences between the earrings, wondering if he could pull it off. After a few seconds’ time, he dropped his hand and left the bathroom to put the earrings away. He very much liked the piercings he had but he had thought he was done for a little while. His first piercings were still fairly newly healed and he had not planned to return so soon.

                 He had been debating on getting another piercing since he had last seen Schneider. After his confession to Richard, he found himself reluctant to return to Metall und Tinte. It wasn’t as if he had told Schneider anything but he couldn’t quite shake the anxiousness he felt. He grabbed his coat after a moment or so of debating on whether or not he should go. Then he placed it on the back of his chair as uncertainty set in. Oliver made his way over to the phone, picking up the receiver and held his finger down on the switch hook.

                Should he call? If he called, he would have to go through with his plan. If he chose not to call, then he could turn back at any time. If he showed up without calling, then he wouldn’t be tied to an appointment. On the other hand, there was no guarantee Schneider would be able to help him, or even in the shop. He returned the receiver to its place, retrieving his coat and leaving his apartment. He’d figure something out.

\--

                He pushed open the door, shuffling inside and looking around for a familiar face. Calm blue eyes fixed him with an impassive gaze. “Hallo Flake, wie geht’s es?”

                “Business as usual. Are you looking for Schneider,” he asked, wasting no time on idle chatter. It was a little unnerving but he appreciated the fact that Flake got straight to the point.

                “Yeah, is he busy? I don’t want to disturb him,” Oliver said quickly, hoping he had arrived at the shop at the right time.

                “He’s just gotten back in actually. If he doesn’t have a client, I’ll send him your way,” Flake called as he walked towards Doom’s office.

                Oliver sat down, eyeing some of the newer artwork that had been added since the last time he was there. He realized Paul was out of the shop this time, or at the very least, extremely quiet this time around. However, a yelp was heard as Flake softly knocked on a door. It sounded like high pitched like that of a woman so he assumed Schneider was indeed at work. The whispers of a conversation could be heard followed by the click of the door and Flake’s reappearance behind the front desk. “He’ll be right out,” Flake explained.

                “All right,” Oliver murmured quietly, attention now more focused on the art surrounding him. He was starting to feel antsy and wanted to distract himself. He was so caught up in concentrating on the colors of one particular painting that he almost missed Doom emerging from the back with his client. He looked up and caught Doom’s eye briefly, earning an excited grin from the piercer. He smiled in return, dropping his gaze before quickly looking at the artwork in front of him. The artwork on the wall, that is.

                He was only halfway paying attention, hearing bits and pieces of Schneider’s aftercare advice on new eyebrow rings and cleaning methods. The woman left after thanking him about five more times, leaving Doom free to speak to Oliver. “Olli! What brings you here today,” Schneider asked cheerfully.

                Oliver hesitated, why was he there? He hadn’t actually decided on what he was going to do once he talked to Schneider. If he was being honest, he didn’t even think he was going to get this far. He took a deep breath and the words spilled out of his mouth; “if you have some free time, I’d like to get another piercing.”

                “Of course! Today’s been pretty slow today so I can do whatever you like,” Schneider replied, turning to lead the way towards his office. If he had waited a moment later, he would have noticed Oliver’s blushing and inaudible stammering at the way Doom phrased his sentence. Instead, he entered the room while chattering away, unaware of how red Oliver had been just a few seconds ago.

                  Schneider began pulling out his usual supplies; gloves, gauze, and rubbing alcohol. “It’s good to see you again,” he said as he arranged the basic tools needed. “What piercing were you thinking about getting this time,” Doom asked with a friendly smile.

                It was much too late to back out now, even if he really wanted to. He thought back to the first time he had come to the shop for two piercings, wondering if he should do another two as a set. Neither piercing had caused him any trouble (aside from the one freak accident), or any pain throughout the healing process. As far as he could tell there was no scarring or anything abnormal going on, so he was doing pretty well.

                “I’d like to get another set of earrings,” he said, finally making up his mind on the issue. It was something simple but nevertheless, it was still a piercing.

                Doom rifled through his supplies, laying out at least five different pairs for Oliver to choose from. “You’re already familiar with these,” he said. “And you already know how to take care of them, so there’s no worries there. That is, unless you happen to yank them out again,” he said, grin playing about his features.

                He considered getting black earrings to match his nose ring but then went with the standard flat silver studs again. Schneider readied the needle and Oliver’s ears, marking out where the piercings would be. After Oliver confirmed he was fine with the location, he waited for Doom to start.

                He felt his nerves kick in, leg shaking in anticipation. The time between Schneider grasping his ear and picking up the needle felt like an eternity.

                “Are you ready?”

                “Ja.”

                He heard the small _pop_ as he felt the needle push through his earlobe and sighed.  The familiar rush of adrenaline kicked in, although this time it felt more amplified. He felt the burn of the earring replacing the needle and found himself surprised at how good it actually felt. He shut his eyes tightly when Doom pushed the back snugly into place, pinching his ear just slightly. He hoped his expression wouldn’t betray him by showing either way he felt; “pain” or pleasure. This time, he was hyper aware of each sensation; the steel post in his ear, how that tiny area of skin felt as if were temporarily on fire, Schneider wiping at the other side with soft yet slightly rough gauze, and somehow it enhanced the experience for him.

                “I’m going to pierce your other ear now,” Doom said, words echoing through Oliver’s head as if he were faraway. He felt the point of the needle, sharp as it scratched lightly against his skin. He focused on the needle, reveling in the sting of it. The earring was in place, with the post securely fastened, completing his second set of earrings. He let out a small involuntary whimper and opened his eyes to find a concerned Schneider staring down at him. He felt large, soft hands gently bracing either side of his face and for a moment he felt lightheaded. “Bist du okay?” Schneider asked, concern evident in his features. Oliver had barely even flinched last time he had gotten his ear pierced. Schneider’s eyes searched Oliver’s worriedly, hoping he hadn’t hurt him. Oliver gazed back into pale blue, momentarily blanking.

                He sat up straight abruptly, feeling dizziness as all of the blood rushed back into his head. “Yeah, it just pinched a bit more than last time I guess,” he quickly explained, not wanting to dwell on the sound that came from his own mouth. Schneider didn’t exactly appear convinced but he let it go, turning back his cabinet of jewelry. 

                “I didn’t see Paul, is he here today,” Oliver asked, hoping to change the subject.

                “No, he’s taken today off to prepare for our gig tonight actually,” Schneider explained. “Just picking up a birthday card and things for Flake,” he whispered.

                “A birthday gig?”

                “Yes, tonight is Flake’s birthday as well. Why don’t you come out with us? We’re going to be playing at a bar not too far from here,” Schneider said as he rearranged some of his supplies.

                Oliver was momentarily stunned for two reasons; the first being, he had no idea it was Flake’s birthday while the second was that Schneider had invited him along. He quickly responded, not wanting to seem too hesitant. “It’s Flake’s birthday?”

                Doom chuckled softly, “yes but no one would ever know it. He’s not exactly one to draw attention to himself. He turns twenty-eight.”

                “You’re in a band,” Oliver asked, still a little dumbfounded.

                “Ja, we’re called Feeling B, all three of us here are in it. Along with our singer and occasional brass instruments,” he explained. “Do you know where the club Bang Bang is?”

                “Isn’t it out towards Kreuzberg?”

                “Ja around Viktoriapark, not too far from the U-Bahn stations,” he said, relief coloring his voice. “That’s where we’re performing at, around eleven tonight. If you’d like to come, you’re free to join us and party.” He discarded the used supplies and got up to let Oliver out. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

                He nodded shyly and replied, “of course, I think I just need to go grab something to eat. Don’t want to get lightheaded.”

                Doom followed Oliver out, ringing up his purchase before walking out with him. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and retrieved one, lighting it as he waved goodbye. “See you tonight,” he said, shifting the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and smiling at Oliver.

                “See you in a few hours,” Oliver replied, unable to stop himself from grinning.

\---

                After a few hours of debating on whether or not to get Flake a small gift, he gave up and headed to Bang Bang. It wasn’t as if Flake had expected anything, he didn’t even mention his birthday. He decided to buy him a drink at least, if he had the opportunity to catch the band at one point of another. Once he finally arrived, he managed to get into the packed club and find a seat near the bar. He looked around for Feeling B, finally spotting Paul’s blond hair weaving through the people there.

                Oliver watched him move through the club with the others, realizing that there was a fourth member with them. He figured that the older man must have been the singer, Schneider and Paul didn’t strike him as the singing type and Flake didn’t strike him as the type who even spoke much at all. He watched the man glide through the club, almost prowling, clearly at ease and in his element. He got the feeling he was an old school punk, raucous, wild, and probably slightly crazy.

                Beer stein clutched tightly in his hand as he loudly greeted people; Oliver realized that he was extremely charismatic as he worked his way through the crowd. Every movement was almost frantic as if he were moving at twice the speed of everyone else. His clothing was tattered like most of those in the punk scene but he was probably twice Paul and Flakes’ age.  A single gold hoop dangled from his left ear with some sort of hanging decoration that resembled beading. A worn black scarf was tied around his head and covered his hair, giving him the appearance of a pirate. Aside from the obvious age difference, he seemed very similar to the other punks scattered throughout the bar.

                He gesticulated wildly, flailing his arms about without spilling a single drop of liquor, laughing as he did so. Whenever he turned his head, the tails of the scarf trailed slightly behind; revealing small holes and runs in the material. Oliver realized that the man was not wearing a scarf but pantyhose. The tails that drifted along were actually the legs of the hose, tied in a neat knot.

                Schneider looked around the venue, making his way towards the bartender. Flake and Paul clambered onto the stage while the oldest member continued mingling with the crowd. Flake toyed with his keyboard for a moment, adjusting the effects on it before disappearing backstage with Paul.

                Oliver fidgeted with his jacket zipper for a moment, unsure if he should approach Schneider. He had no reason to be nervous, after all Doom did invite him. He wished Richard had come with him this time, having someone familiar there would have been such a relief. Of course, he knew three fourths of the band but they were probably going to perform soon so he would have to wait until after the performance to talk to them. 

                He opted for a cigarette to calm his nerves, quietly heading towards the door. Affixing a cigarette between his teeth, he descended the short staircase out of the club and pushed open the door. Once he was outside he pulled out his lighter, soaking in what little warmth it provided him. He exhaled, the nicotine blowing away in small plumes in the cold night air. He wondered if any of Schneider’s band noticed him there and found himself wondering about the best location in the bar to watch them from.

                He shivered as he felt the chill of the night settling into his bones. He hadn’t been outside for more than ten minutes but the weather was unforgiving this late into the year. It was nearly cold enough to expect snow but the night air was sharp on his skin and clear as ever. Only a few gray wispy clouds were visible in the distance, thinly streaked across the dark sky. From where he stood, the stars were just barely visible. He took in his surroundings, wondering what to expect when he went back inside. Just then, he heard _eins, zwo, drei, vier!_ followed by the familiar popping of snare drums and somewhat dissonant guitar chords. The band must have already started then, he thought to himself as he entered the club for the second time that night.

                He was greeted by a wave of hollering and cheers on mostly Paul and the older man’s part. Schneider was hammering away on his drumset and Flake looked cheerful as his fingers danced across his keyboard. Paul was jumping around already, endless amounts of energy carrying him across the stage. He wore a strange pointed woolen hat that added to his already elfish look, pants in the most awful shade of green, and a printed mustard yellow and brown blouse that was about two sizes too big. When he hopped, his clothes filled with air, billowing out behind him as if he were a miniature hot air balloon. Albeit a very ugly hot air balloon, but nonetheless inflated. The older man – still wearing pantyhose over his head – began _screaming_ into the microphone, his mouth barely a centimeter away from it. He wore a similar shirt but his seemed a little tattered around the hem and his pants were a hideous magenta. Oliver was unsure what theme they were going for, he couldn’t tell what their costumes were supposed to be.

                “ _Rumba rumba rumba, ha di ha di haaa, rumba rumba rumba, ha di haaa,”_ he shouted, Paul joining in as soon as he got close enough to share the mic with the lead singer. Oliver could barely understand what they were saying, Paul was too jumpy to really be heard and the other man was practically eating the microphone. It was borderline unintelligible and they sang much too fast but it was enjoyable. A few people in the crowd starting flailing around in an attempt to dance to the song, spilling drinks here and there. He moved closer so he could see the rest of the band better and bit back a laugh. Flake had his eyes closed, jerkily bending his entire upper half as he played.

                He looked to Schneider who appeared to be having the time of his life behind the others. He slammed his hands down on the cymbals, a wide grin plastered on his face as he kept the beat. He looked a little ridiculous in his outfit; some sort of loose fitting brown tunic with too much fabric around his arms that kept swinging when he shifted his position quickly. He seemed to be in a world all his own when he let out a loud yell that coincided with the others’ and suddenly, the song was over.

                There was a split second of silence and then Paul launched into the next song with more screaming, making it clear that he was feeling a little intoxicated. The crowd cheered when they heard him starting up, some of them already familiar with the song. “ _Hea hoa hea hoa_ ,” he yelled as he stared at them expectantly, waiting for a response. A few enthusiastic fans close to the stage responded with the same exact thing he had just said. The older man leaped forward with unexpected speed, practically diving off the edge of the stage. He clutched his microphone between his hands as he yelled back, directly in their faces.

                The men who were in his path cheered in response, breaking up and dancing around. They formed a semi-mosh pit, jumping around and throwing elbows and kicks. None of them could compare with Paul who was doing jump-splits while playing each chord. Flake was in the process of lighting a cigarette with one hand, keeping his other on the keyboard and going along with the song. Most of the people in the crowd caught on, jumping around and dancing while keeping a safe distance from the most pit.

                Oliver wanted to dance but he found there was no real rhythm, which probably accounted for why everyone just sort of thrashed about with reckless abandon. He looked to Schneider, who had just flung a beer bottle to the ground with a shout, surprisingly not breaking it as he retrieved a nearby drumstick and kept going. Doom had a look of serious concentration on his face and Oliver realized that he was actually really-

                “Hallo! Willst du tanzen mit mir?”

                He turned to see who had asked him the question. A grinning girl stood before him, smiling shyly behind her too-long bangs. To be specific, her bangs were nearly to her chin, a seemingly common hairstyle among the punks in this bar. “Me,” Oliver asked, unsure of who she had directed it to. “You meant me?”

                “Natürlich,” she replied, looking almost as embarrassed as Oliver felt. It was just a dance though, and so he obliged. They began dancing, twisting and turning to the beat of the song. The song got progressively faster, Schneider drumming at a breakneck pace and the singer practically spitting up each word. He kept his head down, looking more so at his feet than the girl he was dancing with, just so he was sure that he wasn’t stepping on anyone else’s feet. The floor had become mysteriously sticky, his boots making squelching sounds each time he lifted up his foot. The girl was twirling around, her eyes closed and hands high above her head as her long skirt flared out from beneath her.

                The man and Paul began to scream even louder, pretty much disregarding the song in favor of causing chaos. Flake dropped off and Schneider was only adding in the occasional cymbal crash. The song ended then with the singer attempting to gargle his drink loudly enough for it to be picked up by the microphone.  Oliver’s dancing slowed down and the woman followed suit, quietly thanking him before scurrying back to her circle of friends.

                Paul had taken to balancing his guitar in his hand while Flake was getting carried away with a keyboard solo. He was just as jumpy as it sounded (and as Paul), dancing along with his hair flopping back and forth. Schneider was chugging a beer with the singer who was downing something probably much stronger. As soon as he knocked back the shot, the older man hopped off the stage and into the mosh pit of dancers. He strode towards the bar without a care in the world, almost as if he had forgotten why he was at the club in the first place.

                Now that the man was much closer he could see how worn his outfit really was. It looked as if it were clinging to him by only a few threads, just as the pantyhose on his head were. He looked tan in the dim lighting but he wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him or he was naturally tan. (Then again, there was always the third and most punk option; being covered in dirt for whatever reason.) Instead of going to the bar, he took someone else’s drink from their hand and drained it in one swig then wiped his mouth on his sleeve and headed back to the stage. “Aljoscha,” someone shrieked as he walked by. He shot them a winning smile, exposing his crooked and missing teeth proudly. Oliver wondered if he had lost them through some sort of bar fight or just everyday actions. What sort of daily routine involved the risk of losing teeth?

                A trumpet and trombone player emerged from backstage, each wearing costumes that included wigs and sunglasses along with brightly colored clothing. They began playing as Aljoscha clambered back up onto the stage, a bit drunker now. The brass instruments, Flake, and Aljoscha all started three different songs, at which point the show started to dissolve into pandemonium. Their three songs merged into one loud and dissonant mess.

                Although it wasn’t quite what Oliver was expecting, he was enjoying himself even more than he thought he would. The combination of songs went on for about two minutes before Aljoscha pulled off his headscarf and shoved it into the trumpet. After he did that, he ran behind Schneider and jumped at a thick rope, tugging it down. With it, the banner behind Doom that read ‘Feeling B’ came down and Aljoscha swaddled it around himself and kicked over an amplifier before waltzing offstage. The rest of the band took it as a signal that their set was over for now and departed the stage amidst loud applause.

                Oliver decided to grab a drink quickly before catching up with Schneider and the rest of the band. He wondered whether or not to order something strong or just settle for beer, as it seemed the rest of the band was already very drunk. Once the bartender approached him to take his order; he asked for a double shot of whiskey. Tonight would probably not be a night of moderation. A second later, someone spoke up and said, “make it two.” He felt a warm hand on his shoulder followed by hot breath very close to his ear. “Hallo Oliver,” he practically purred, making the younger man jump.

                He whipped around at the man, realizing it was actually Schneider and breathed a sigh of relief. He thought it might have been the woman he danced with earlier but then realized she never got his name anyways.  

                “How are your ears feeling,” Doom asked as he sidled onto the stool next to him. Oliver nodded in reply, offering a small smile in lieu of words. He would have spoken but Schneider’s wide grin caught him off guard; he looked genuinely happy. He was still riding that successful post-gig high, slapping out a beat on the bar counter with his hands.

                “It feels fine, no problems yet,” Oliver said as his fingers rubbed at the stud.

                Schneider leaned in, swatting Oliver’s hand away from his ear. “Your hands are filthy, don’t play with it,” he insisted, eyes trained on his earring.

                Oliver chucked softly to himself; Schneider never let the little details slip, somehow he always had work on his mind. The bartender returned, setting the shot glasses down in front of the two. They reached for their drinks, clinking them together before gulping them quickly.

                Oliver shook off the inevitable burn of the whiskey, grimacing slightly. He hadn’t quite gotten used to it, preferring the smoothness of vodka instead but whiskey was cheap, readily available in excess at this particular bar, and it did the job.

                Schneider seemed unaffected by the whiskey, but he was still definitely drunk. “Although we’ve just come offstage, it seems you’ve gained a fan,” Schneider said with a toothy grin. Oliver blushed then, wondering what the hell Doom was talking about. He looked around quickly, trying to figure out whom he was referring to. Doom playfully cuffed a hand around the back of Oliver’s head and whispered, “don’t make it obvious, she’s probably nervous. Poor thing, looks like she’s shaking like a leaf.” He kept his eyes trained on the wall behind Oliver, his smile stretching into a predatory grin.

                “Who? What?” Oliver didn’t look for them again, not wanting to scare them off in case Schneider’s smile hadn’t.

                “I’m not sure,” Schneider said as he flagged down the bartender. “Two more beers,” he said to the man. “Some woman, she can’t stop looking over at you. Or your hair. I’m not sure which,” he said to Oliver.

                Oliver thanked Doom quietly when the bartender slid two bottles their way. “What does she look like?”

                “Long black hair, can’t actually see her face through it so I don’t know. She’s dressed warmly? Uh, that’s all I can say,” Schneider offered, obviously lost on how to describe this woman.

                “Oh I might have danced with her for a song or two. It wasn’t that long,” he said, thinking of how the song faded into commotion.

                Schneider raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the thought of Oliver dancing. “You danced? So I take it that you liked the show?”

                “Yeah, it was interesting,” he said, trying not to chuckle again in the off chance that Doom might see his laughter as insulting. He really did like their performance although it was a bit off the wall, it was still enjoyable and entertaining to watch. “It was sort of short though, are you guys doing another set after this band?”

                His expression hardened, then relaxed as he began to speak. “I’d like to think so. We should but it depends on how everyone else is feeling,” he said, tone strained as if he was holding his tongue. There was something he wanted to say but Doom wasn’t going to talk about it any further, that much was obvious. Oliver wanted to ask him what he was thinking about but decided against it, opting to take a sip of his beer instead.

                “Christoph,” the singer barked, glaring in their direction. Schneider’s head whipped back in response, looking slightly offended that he was being interrupted. He looked as if he were going to snap back at Aljoscha but then he looked back at Oliver apologetically. “Aljoscha needs me for a minute, I’ll be right back. Realizing his own beer was empty, he took Oliver’s bottle and drank straight from it, nearly finishing it off. “I owe you a drink,” he said with a wink before leaving the table.

                Feeling B gathered onstage, crowding around Flake with enthusiastic smiles. Aljoscha grabbed a microphone and ruffled Flake’s hair affectionately. “It’s your birthday! Everyone, Flake, Flake, everyone,” he said, mock-introducing him to the crowd. “On three, everyone needs to sing to this wonderful keyboard player ok?” He raised his arms, waving them about like a conductor about to give the most important performance of his life.

                A few shouts of agreements and scattered applause was heard before Aljoscha counted off the song. A rousing chorus of ‘zum Geburtstag viel Glück’ rang throughout the bar as Paul held onto a cake with entirely too many candles on it. As the crowd finished, Flake did his best to blow out the candles, successfully extinguishing about thirty of the forty precariously perched sticks. Aljoscha pulled out some of the used candles and tossed them behind him, before taking a handful of cake and pushing it onto Flake’s face. Flake took it all in stride, breaking out in laughter as he wiped the sugary frosting off his glasses. Paul dipped a finger into it carefully, scooping out a small piece of the chocolate and eating it.

                Oliver was slightly shocked, barely blinking at what he was witnessing as he processed the events of the evening so far. He had arrived at Bang Bang and saw the entire tattoo parlor performing in what could best be described as organized chaos. When he had found Doom, he had taken Oliver’s drink and emptied it within five seconds without a second thought. Aljoscha was great fun but also possibly crazy with a real fondness for cake. Also, Schneider apparently had a first name. _Christoph_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I meant to have this done right around Flake's birthday... instead I'm on time for Paul's. I tried though.  
> \- Feeling B songs referenced here are 'Artig' and 'Rumba Rumba'.


	9. Feuer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...

                Schneider’s tongue darted out from between his lips, titanium barbell briefly shining in the light. Oliver glanced at it and finally asked, “How much did that hurt?”

                “Oh, I had Paul and Flake help me with it, what a day that was. Don’t trust Paul with forceps. Needles, yes but not the forceps. The actual piercing wasn’t too bad, just uncomfortable to adapt to. I had a little bit of a lisp for a few days while my tongue was swollen up. The healing process was more painful, I think. It can be a real hassle to keep clean,” Doom said. “Why, are you interested in getting one?” His smile was playful as he looked at Oliver for a response. 

                “I uh, I hadn’t actually thought about it honestly. I was just curious,” Oliver murmured, sounding a little embarrassed. “I think I’m all right for now. I’ve gotten three in such a short time.” He tried not to smirk at the thought of a lisping Schneider, but was a little distracted by the thought of actually having one.

                “There is an upside to having it,” Doom replied, mischievously grinning.

                “Like what?”

                “Well, aside from aesthetic purposes,” he said slowly, considering his words carefully before continuing. “It feels good too,” he finished, taking another swig of his beer. “For everyone,” he casually added after thinking about it.

                Oliver watched as Doom nervously bit his lip, hoping that his own eyes wouldn’t give away his thoughts. If Oliver had been drinking anything at that moment, he would have most likely choked on it and sprayed Doom and the table with it. He was totally caught off guard by that answer and wondered exactly how much the drummer had had to drink so far. There was no misconstruing the clear innuendo in his comment. Was he imagining things or was Schneider actually flirting?

                “Speaking of piercings, are you sure yours are all right? You seemed like you might have been in pain earlier,” Doom continued nonchalantly as if he hadn’t said anything at all out of the ordinary.

                Oliver rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to make eye contact. “Yeah, it was just unexpected.” Did Schneider catch on to what happened? Did he think Oliver was some sort of masochistic freak now? He didn’t want Schneider to think _that_. Although maybe Schneider had other customers who were a little more adventurous with their piercings, so he was probably on the less intense end of the spectrum.

                “It seemed like something else was there with the pain,” Schneider said with a knowing smile.

                Oliver flinched; Doom had caught on to a lot more than he had let on. Or maybe he was just very drunk and constant smiling was a part of his inebriated personality. He looked at Doom, taking in his features and trying to distinguish what he might know. He wanted to keep quiet but knew that the other wouldn’t drop it. “I guess I just like the way piercings feel. They still hurt though,” He looked away again, not wanting to see Doom’s reaction to his statement. He hadn’t told him the whole truth but then again, he hadn’t lied either.

                “If you like the way they _feel_ , then maybe you should consider getting your tongue pierced next,” Schneider said playfully. He placed a hand on Oliver’s broad shoulder, partly to balance himself as he stood up, then asked, “Do you want another drink?”

                Doom had definitely caught onto what he meant. “Yeah sure,” Oliver said, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket when Schneider suddenly stopped him with his opposite hand. He realized Doom was much closer than necessary, warm hands brushing against his skin, dangerously close to his waist. He could feel faint traces of Schneider’s breath, liquor strong in the air between them. He caught a whiff of something else too, perhaps fading cologne and possibly the slightest hint of a menthol cigarette. He froze as Schneider leaned in with a catlike smile. He wanted to re-

                “No worries, I’ve got it,” Doom said, barring him from giving him any money before withdrawing his hand to get their drinks.

                Oliver felt as if all the wind in his lungs had been knocked from him, momentarily stunned by the other man’s boldness. Could it be considered boldness? He realized he hadn’t even told him what he wanted to drink, a bit of a delayed reaction. He hoped that Schneider would bring back something strong enough to sustain the buzz he was starting to feel. He tried to focus on counting the number of nails holding the sticky vinyl to the table but kept losing track around thirty. 

                -But he couldn’t, not just yet. Schneider returned then, glasses landing with a heavy thunk as he placed them down. “You mind rum,” he asked, gesturing towards the drink.

                Oliver shook his head and sipped at it cautiously, finding that whatever he ordered was actually quite tasty. It had a slight spice to it, something akin to ginger or cinnamon that mixed with the sweetness of the rum that brought out its flavor. “What’s this, it’s nice,” Oliver asked between sips of the mystery drink.

                “I don’t rightly know, I asked the bartender for two drinks and this is what I got. Not my usual style, but it’s not too bad,” Schneider replied, already having gulped down about half of his drink. “Does the job though,” he said.

                “And what job might that be?”

                “Getting me drunk,” Schneider chuckled and Oliver couldn’t help but laugh as well. “At this point, it doesn’t have much to do honestly.” He took another swig, before setting it down and smiling yet another toothy grin. “Did you want some cake?”

                Oliver smiled back, this time a little wider in response to Schneider’s. “Cake? You mean Flake’s birthday cake? Sure, I’ll take a piece,” he replied, looking around for the rest of Feeling B. Aljoscha and Flake were still cutting up pieces of the cake while Paul was dancing, or half crouching and bouncing really, with someone a few feet away.

                When they went over to the others, Schneider almost immediately grabbed a piece of cake and began eating it while Oliver properly wished Flake a happy birthday. As soon as Oliver finished his sentence, he felt a solid weight crash into him and something semi-sticky on his face. He stood there frozen for a second, trying to register what happened.

                He heard deep laughter in his ear as he realized an arm wrapped around him. _What the fuck is on my face?_ He wondered before reaching a finger up to check. Cool sticky frosting clung to his finger as some of the smaller cake crumbs dropped away. He was totally dumbfounded and caught off-guard. Flake and Aljoscha chuckled, then turned their attention to a few fans who were still over the moon about their performance earlier.

                Laughter, clear and loud, rang through his ears as he felt Schneider’s weight against his side. He couldn’t help but grin along as well, even though it definitely wasn’t his birthday. He heard amused chuckled in his ear, low and light. He felt as if his senses were heightened; Doom’s warm laughter and his arm slung around Oliver’s shoulders. “You’ve got cake on your face,” Doom said in a playful, almost sing song tone. “Here, let me help you.” As if he wouldn’t have noticed the cake unless someone pointed it out to him.

                Schneider stood on his toes, leaned in, and ran his tongue across Oliver’s cheek, coming away with a mouthful of cake. Oliver felt his face redden in response and he stood stock-still, totally unsure of what to do. Doom’s tongue was a little sloppy but he was conscious of the smoothness of the piercing and the faint trail of saliva left behind. In a split second, Schneider licked him again, as if he were trying to get a particularly stubborn bit of frosting off his cheekbone. If Doom wasn’t as intoxicated as he was, he would have been caught a little off guard by the stubble there. He trailed off into laughter, a few crumbs of cake spilling from between his lips as he pulled away.

                He was right, _it did_ feel good. Oliver suppressed a shudder, trying not to react the way his instincts told him to. There was no reason to hold back though, was there? He watched Schneider’s eyes, somewhat unfocused, suddenly snap to his, a glint of something dancing behind them. Doom was alert then, still chuckling to himself as he tried to read Oliver’s reaction.

                He heard a high-pitched giggle behind him, somewhere over his left shoulder. He made brief eye contact with Oliver, trying to figure out who it might be. He saw a flash of panic in the blonde’s eyes as he heard a voice drift between them. He turned his head and nearly scowled at the interruption.

                “Hallo guys,” she started shyly, peering at them from between her bangs. She swayed back and forth, twisting her body as if she were trying to swing dance in place. _She’s really laying it on thick,_ Schneider thought to himself, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He smiled stiffly at her, although his drunkenness probably made it seem much more genuine than it was.

                “I just wanted to come over and say what a great show Feeling B put on tonight,” she said to Schneider, although her eyes never left Oliver’s form. Doom’s attention was focused on his drink and so he hardly noticed that she was staring so intently at the other man. He was formulating an excuse to get Oliver away and an apology for the groupie when she smiled widely at Oliver, finally saying something to him. “That’s actually why I came over here. I’d like to ask your friend here for another dance,” she said, referring to their dance that got cut short during Schneider’s set. Schneider’s jaw nearly dropped, he thought she was just an overly eager fan but instead she was here for Oliver?

                He looked to Oliver who looked just as flustered as Doom was confused. His eyes darted nervously between Schneider and the woman for a few seconds before he sheepishly agreed. Schneider raised his eyebrows at him before gulping down more of his drink as if to say ‘ _good luck_ ’. They made their way to the dance floor, leaving a fuming Doom and two drinks behind.

                At this point in the night, all the bands had finished their sets, leaving only a few guys huddled around the turntables to play music for the rest of the night. They fiddled around with the records, loud scratches picked up by the speakers as they switched out records. Someone was clearly a fan of American punk music which was obvious as sounds of a Black Flag album filled the room.

                Oliver danced a little, seemingly unsure of his footing after the couple of drinks he had. He certainly was feeling much looser but really wanted to return to his liquor. He looked over the girl’s head in Doom’s direction, only to find the other man glaring back at him. He immediately turned around then, completely shocked as to why Schneider was so upset all of a sudden. The girl draped her arms around his arms, attempting to gain leverage to whisper in his ear. However, the woman was about a foot too short for that and opted to whisper-shout up at him instead.

                “What is your name?”

                “Oliver,” he replied. He tried to shrug out of her grasp, turning away slightly. He made eye contact with Doom again and this time it looked as if the other was trying to bore holes into his chest. The irritation was clear on his face and he actually looked quite intimidating from across the room. He felt a bit nervous about eventually having to end their dance, then he would have to possibly receive the brunt of that frustration.

                “Mine is Brigitte,” she said, letting her arms fall to her sides. Instead of catching the subtle hints Oliver was trying to give her, she moved in closer to dance. Spinning around in front of him, Brigitte leaned back against him and swayed to the beat. She was a nice girl, not too bad looking, but he just was not interested. Maybe if he was lucky, he could let her down easy and she could go get a drink and move onto someone else in the bar.

                She reached her hands behind her, linking them around his neck. He was not so lucky. Schneider was glaring at them and it was starting to make Oliver feel a little uneasy. Should he have stayed with Doom instead? He would have preferred to but he also didn’t want to be rude to this woman. After all, he did sort of owe Brigitte a dance anyways.

                The song came to a literal screeching halt as the turntable got bumped and the needle arm dropped off completely. Swearing was heard from the rowdy group at the turntables as the music ended abruptly. She frowned but laughed it off asking, “So I guess we just aren’t meant to dance a full song?” He chuckled in agreement before managing to slip off the dance floor finally. Brigitte followed him as he returned to the table where their drinks were but Schneider was nowhere to be found.

                Doom had definitely been there, almost all of one of the drinks was gone but his own drink remained untouched. Finding his throat awfully dry, he took a sip of it and was relieved it was still cold. He looked around for a glimpse of Schneider but found he was with none of the other members of Feeling B. He wasn’t too worried, figuring the other man had gone off to the bathroom. He drank about half the glass then set it down, wondering if he had any more cigarettes left. He could use one after the strange ‘incident’ from a few minutes ago. He was still clueless as to what might have set Schneider off but wrote it off as sheer drunkenness. Maybe Doom was an emotional drunk and something else upset him.

                Brigitte had been chattering away to him but he hadn’t heard a single word she said but she didn’t seem to mind. Oliver looked at her and she stopped talking halfway through her sentence to smile at him. He smiled back absentmindedly at her but she raised an eyebrow in confusion.

                “Did you hear me,” she asked.

                “Honestly? Not really,” Oliver said, chuckling as he raised the glass to his lips again.

                She sighed in exasperation before asking, “I said your friend. Does he always look like he’s going to murder someone?”

                Their conversation had come back to Doom on its own accord, something he had no problem with. “No? I don’t think so?”

                She huffed, her bangs blowing forward as she did so.

                He could tell that she noticed his disinterest and tried to make an indiscreet exit. “I’m just going to go out for a minute, I need some air,” he explained lamely.

                He decided that he would look for Schneider after he smoked. He took another gulp from his drink and made his way towards the other band members. He heard her footsteps behind him and sighed, trying not to let his annoyance show. He could at least check for Doom before he went outside. Before he had taken more than five steps, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a voice purring in his ear, making him nearly jump backwards. Brigitte yelped and then a much deeper voice asked, “Where are you going?”

                Oliver whipped around, even though he already figured only Doom would try to sneak up on him like that. Well, perhaps Brigitte would too. Schneider was awfully close, his breath tickled at his ear a second ago and he hadn’t even backed up when Oliver did. Although now Oliver felt that maybe his reactions were a little dramatic, but maybe it was just the alcohol talking. Doom’s expectant gaze told Oliver that he was still waiting for an answer.

                Brigitte looked offended that Schneider had pretty much shoved her out of the way. She turned on her heel abruptly and went back to her friends as Doom stared at him.

                “I, I-I’m just going to go have a cigarette,” Oliver stammered nervously, pressing his palms to his pockets to see where his pack was. He scratched at his neck, getting chocolate crumbs on his fingers. He shook his head, trying to get off the leftover cake. He was in the mood for cake but no longer in the conventional- _stop_ , he told himself.

                “I’ll come with you,” Schneider insisted, gaze burning through him. “I need one as well.” His playful grin was a little less playful, and a little more predatory. He was torn between wanting to run out of the bar and wanting to find out just what exactly was making Schneider so daring. They weaved their way towards the far wall and Oliver was about to head outside when Schneider pulled him back. “Where are you going,” he repeated, this time with more concern.

                “Outside,” Oliver answered, confused as to why Doom had such a strong grip on his wrist. Was he still upset?

                He let Oliver’s hand drop, feeling a delayed embarrassment set in. He jerked his head at a deserted corner of the club before leading the way over. “We can smoke inside, its sort of chilly out,” he said with a hint of irritation creeping into his tone.

                Oliver hummed in agreement before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it as he followed Schneider to an abandoned corner. Taking a long drag, he took in Schneider’s features once more in the dim lighting. He couldn’t observe him for long because Doom noticed he was being watched and stared back. Doom patted his own pockets and upon the realization that they were empty, he asked Oliver for a cigarette. He needed something to calm his nerves. He would have gone to get another drink but felt that maybe more alcohol would have been too excessive. Aside from that, he finally had found somewhere semi-quiet in the bar.

                Oliver gestured at the now flattened cigarette carton between them and frowned. Then, he offered his cigarette to Schneider as he mumbled, “We can share if you don’t mind.” Schneider took the cigarette from him, inhaling contentedly.

                “That’s fine,” he replied, smiling again at Oliver. He took a few more drags before moving to hand Oliver back the cigarette. He was practically cornering Oliver between the table and wall as he moved closer.

                Oliver nervously backed into the wall, the roughness of the exposed brick interior scratching at his skin. Schneider’s eyes searched his as he smirked. “You’ve still got some frosting on you,” he said. Instead of licking his face, he reached a finger to his temple and gently wiped at it. “See,” Doom said as he showed him a smudge of leftover chocolate on his fingertip. He licked it off his finger in a cautious, catlike manner.

                Oliver chuckled, feeling much less nervous than a he was a few drinks ago. “I …” he began, trailing off once he noticed Schneider licking his lips. He really wanted to …

                “What,” Schneider asked, suddenly much more attentive to Oliver than the remnants of cake.

                “I…” The words died in his throat and he wetted his lips, noticing Schneider’s eyes focused on his mouth. He found he couldn’t get his vocal chords to work correctly when the other man was so close, so distracting. Doom exhaled a stream of smoke away from Oliver’s face to be polite, puckering his lips as if he were going to blow smoke rings. His lips looked very inviting and Oliver found himself looking away.

                He was jerked back to the present when Schneider tapped his shoulder lightly. Oliver was staring straight into clear blue eyes, tinged with bloodshot edges; a dead giveaway he was drunk. Schneider blinked slowly and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn that it was like Doom was batting his eyelashes. Oliver could practically smell the alcohol on his breath and it was almost becoming too much for him. Schneider extended his hand, offering the cigarette to Oliver. A few more minutes like this and he would probably give in.

                He felt his drunkenness was getting in the way of what he wanted to say. Or maybe it was loosening him up too much, and now he could barely get the words out. He took the cigarette from Schneider, letting his hand linger for a few seconds before ashing it on the edge of the table. He let it burn between his fingers, forgotten, as he tried to figure out how to phrase his question. Schneider stepped forward slightly, looking up at him expectantly. His head was tilted to the side and he grinned lopsidedly at Oliver.

                He looked much less threatening this way; in fact he looked almost downright adorable. Oliver’s limbs felt heavy as lead yet he felt full of energy. Schneider’s smile was contagious, cheekbones prominent. It felt genuine and real and for some reason he felt awfully warm. Doom’s smile was so bright and beaming, it momentarily unnerved him. After a second thought, he realized that the other man had quite a stunning smile and his features really complimented it.

                Oliver took a deep breath then, sucking in air as best he could before finally bucking up and getting to the point. He made sure to look Schneider in the eyes and said, “I’d… I’d really like to kiss you.” He looked away, abashedly, although it was proving hard to do with Doom so close to him. The alcohol had definitely gotten to him but he found he didn’t care at this point. It was out in the open and to hell with the consequences. Right? He realized Schneider had said nothing so he looked back at the shorter man.

                Schneider’s gaze was focused solely on him and his expression was unreadable. Had he fucked up? They held each other’s gaze for a few moments as if frozen in place; Oliver in fear and Doom in shock. Was he going to answer him? Did he even hear the question?

                After a moment that seemed like an eternity he asked in a low voice, “Would you?”

_Uh._

_Yeah._

                Before Oliver could comprehend what he wanted to say, much less form a coherent reply, Schneider wrapped an arm around his neck and closed the distance between them. The last thing Oliver saw before closing his eyes was Schneider smirking as he leaned in. Doom pulled Oliver closer, pressing their lips together and grinning into the kiss. Oliver felt warm all over, partly because Schneider was practically covering him in the small corner. Doom’s fingers trailed their way through Oliver’s hair and down towards his neck, lightly brushing over the skin there.

                Oliver was feeling spectacularly drunk and kissed him back enthusiastically, finally registering what was happening. Doom was caught off guard by the other’s sudden excitement but quickly recovered, running his tongue over Oliver’s bottom lip. He could taste the mix of cigarettes and the lingering sweetness of the rum.

                Once Oliver felt that he realized he wanted more. He wanted to know exactly what the barbell in Schneider’s mouth felt like, what Schneider tasted like even though it probably wasn’t much different from himself. Tentatively, he deepened the kiss as he brushed his tongue against Doom’s, feeling the briefest contact with the steel ball. Through his drunken haze, Oliver could tell Schneider had much more to drink, tasting the faintest hint of vodka as well. Perhaps a blueberry flavored variety, unusual for a rundown bar, but nevertheless he appreciated the flavor.

                Doom’s kiss got a little more aggressive in response as he dragged a hand to Oliver’s jawline, trying to pull him even closer. Oliver wrapped his arms around Doom’s waist possessively, the two of them lost in their own minds. They broke apart for a few seconds, looking at each other curiously. Oliver broke eye contact first, opting to kiss Schneider again. Schneider could feel the other man’s stubble grazing against his lips and chin, roughly rubbing against his face. It was a comfortable feeling for Doom and he decided to go a little further. Leaving one arm draped around Oliver to hold him close, he used the other to explore Oliver’s broad chest. He dragged his fingers slowly across, feeling the muscle that was hidden beneath a thin layer of fabric. Oliver suppressed a shudder at that, but was unable to stop himself when Schneider caught his lip between his teeth.

                Schneider let go of it, running his tongue across again, making sure that Oliver felt both the bite and ring. Oliver was lost in the combination of sensations he was feeling; the softness of Doom’s lips on his, his grip on Doom’s hips, and Schneider’s wandering hands. He leaned forward into Schneider and heard a scraping noise, looking away to see what had moved. He realized they had stumbled into the table and knocked it back a few inches, spilling some of their drinks in the process.

                He looked behind Doom worriedly, but began chuckling.

                “What’s so funny,” Schneider asked, looking at the mess next to them.

                “We’ve got nothing left to drink,” he said, laughing a little louder.

                Schneider raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what was so funny about that. He noticed Oliver’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat and had an idea. He buried his head in Oliver’s shoulder, making the other man laugh even more.

                “Schneider? What are you doing,” he asked, slight concern creeping into his voice as he tried to figure out if Doom was suddenly feeling sick. Instead of replying, Schneider tightened his hold around Oliver’s middle and lifted his head up slightly, slowly licking a wide stripe across Oliver’s neck.

                Whatever Oliver was going to say turned into a low moan of pleasure, focusing on how good the barbell felt combined with Doom’s tongue. Schneider felt it reverberate as he moved along the skin there, nipping slightly. Oliver dropped his head back, lost in the feeling, but wanting Doom to do more, needing to feel more. Doom moved to the side of his neck, catching his ear between his teeth and tugging experimentally. He sucked at his neck, leaving behind a small bruise before lapping at the hollow of Oliver’s collarbone.

                “Ahh,” Oliver groaned, digging his fingers into Schneider’s back as he pulled him closer in the cramped space. He felt himself flushing with heat and pleasure.

                Schneider ran a hand under Oliver’s shirt, caressing his abdomen as he continued to kiss the other man’s neck. Oliver found it hard to concentrate on anything else besides what Schneider was doing to him as another moan escaped his lips. Schneider could have pulled off his shirt right then and there and he wouldn’t have complained at all. He felt Doom laugh’s, his breath hot on his skin and pulled Doom to eye level before he could leave any more bruises behind. He wanted to kiss Schneider until his lips were swollen. Oliver kissed him harder, desperately trying to convey how much he wanted it. He let his hands drift lower and lower...

                On the other side of the club, Flake was elbowing Paul in an attempt to get his attention. Paul tore his gaze away from the girl who had been flirting with him all night to ask, “What? What do you want?” Flake pointed and Paul followed the direction he was gesturing in to see Schneider half leaning on a table. “It’s just Schneider, so what?”

                “Nein, you twit,” he said, gently cuffing the back of his head. “Look again,” he insisted. Paul squinted at the dark corner before realizing a pair of hands working their way down to Schneider’s ass.

                “Who the fuck is that,” he asked, eyes wide as he looked back to Flake.

                “Who do you think?”

                Paul stared at the couple in disbelief, realizing that Schneider was making out with a man that he knew. _He was making out with Oliver._ Judging from the way it looked, they were going at it like horny teenagers. “You’re kidding,” he said incredulously. “This whole time I thought you were joking!” Flake grinned as if to say ‘ _I told you so_ ’.

                “Wait, is he grabbing his ass,” Paul choked out, nearly spitting out his drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time coming.


	10. Aftermath

                “Richard.”

                “I mean, I’m not too sure, I know how I want to ask him, it’s just _when_ you know?”

                “Richard.”

                “My timing sucks honestly, I don’t want to catch him at the wrong time or if he’s in a bad mood. At the same time, I don’t want to keep putting it off. I really want to move ahead with this.”

                “Richard,” Oliver said, this time a little louder.

                “I’m ready to go on and just get it over with-“

                “Richard.”

                “-but I don’t want to come off as hasty. Rushing him would be the worst honestly and I’d hate to put pressure on Till.”

                “Richard,” Oliver said firmly, this time successfully stopping Richard in his tracks. “Just sit.”

                Richard sat down finally, wide eyed with confusion. “I’m just a bit mixed up,” he sighed.

                “Richard, you’ll be fine. Just go through with it,” Oliver said calmly. “You’re overthinking it at this point,” he held up a hand before Richard could interrupt. “Just ask him, it’ll be okay.” Oliver smiled at Richard reassuringly then, knowing that he would figure everything out. He refrained from adding ‘ _you’re practically married already_ ’ but decided against it, knowing Richard would balk at the mention of it.

                “You think so?”

                “I know it.”

                “Yeah but what if-”

                “Richard.”

                “You’re right,” Richard said. He thought about it and opened his mouth to speak again, but gave up at the look Oliver gave him. “I don’t know why I’m dragging my feet about this honestly. I guess I’m still hesitant about it all. Don’t want to jump into it too fast. Would you like a drink?”

                Oliver nodded and Richard got to his feet, searching through his fridge. “I’ve got beer, sodas, and a little bit of whiskey somewhere around here.” He opened various cabinets searching for clean stein mugs for them to drink from. “Oh I’ve got some vodka here too. I had a few people over from work last night,” Richard explained. “I think I’ve got raspberry or blueberry,” he added.

                “Vodka,” he questioned, his voice a little more high pitched than normal.

                Richard caught the change in his voice and asked, “Are you all right?” He was unsure whether Oliver was asking for vodka or was confused by the fact he had vodka in his apartment. He pulled down a stein for each of them, searching for the liquor.

                “You said blueberry vodka,” Oliver asked.

                “Yeah, I mean I can make a drink with it unless you really want it straight. Rough day,” Richard asked, shooting a look of concern to his friend.

                “Uh, no not straight,” he replied. “I’ll take a beer for now but maybe I’ll drink something else after. Whatever you’ve got is fine.”

                Richard poured beers for the both of them before returning to the counter to make drinks. He came across the vodka first, deciding to make something strong. He was a bit stressed out from trying to map out his apartment for what could possibly become a place for two. He added a little extra to his own drink, before setting them down in front of Oliver. “That one’s mine,” he said, pointing to his mug.

                Oliver picked up the drink and sipped at it, eyes wide as he realized that his drink was blueberry flavored.

                “Is your drink too strong?”

                “Uh, no, it’s blueberry,” Oliver blurted out.

                “…Yes? I ran out of raspberry, I guess,” Richard said, glancing back towards the counter to check the empty bottle. “Is there something wrong with it? You’re not allergic to blueberries are you?”

                “No,” he replied, busying himself with taking sips of the tasty drink. It reminded him of the concert from the other night and he felt himself flushing at the memory.

                “You’re awful cheerful, huh? What’s got you so smiley,” Richard asked, wondering why Oliver was so excited over fruity vodka.

                “It’s blueberry,” Oliver said into his glass.

                “So what’s the story,” Richard asked, eyes flicking up to meet Oliver’s.

                _Shit._

                He was nervous to talk about the other night, still somewhat in disbelief that it had really happened. Maybe he could play it off instead, or distract him by finding out more about what Richard wanted to do with his place.

                “About what? I’ve got no stories,” he said, keeping his eyes on the floor in the hopes that Richard would drop it.

                “You sure you’re okay,” Richard asked cautiously, keeping a close watch on Oliver’s suspicious behavior. He knew the younger man was hiding something but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was fine the last time they had seen each other but what had changed since then? Oliver did look a little on the peaky side when he came in but seemed happy enough.

                Oliver resisted the urge to reply with just ‘ _blueberry_ ’ but he really felt like he needed to get what happened the other night off his chest. He had been sort of worried about what the possible repercussions were going to be.

                “I’m fine.” Richard threw him a skeptical look. “Ok fine, I’ll tell you” he replied finally giving in to Richard’s exaggerated pout. Richard sat up now, totally alert for the story he was about to hear.

                “About the other night…” Oliver began, feeling the beginning of a smile spread across his face. He mentally chided himself for being so giddy for even thinking about it, it was totally ridiculous. Richard leaned forward, he could tell this was going to be good. “I went to a bar to catch a concert. Actually a birthday celebration, well it was a bit of both.”

                “Who’d you go to see,” Richard asked, excitement evident in his voice. He loved going to concerts more than anything and was constantly chattering about new music.

                “Are you familiar with Feeling B?”

                “Ja, Till’s a big fan of their stuff and he’s gone to a few of their shows. I haven’t seen them yet but he keeps bugging me to go with him. I think I’ve got a cassette of theirs somewhere around here,” Richard said, looking around for it. “Till might have left it for me to check out. Did you go see them?”

                Oliver couldn’t help but smile again at the thought of the bizarre concert he had witnessed. “Yeah, it was Flake’s birthday. He was one of the guys from the tattoo parlor, remember? Tall, skinny blond guy with glasses?”

                Richard nodded.

                “He’s a part of the band, as a matter of fact, the whole shop is in a band with this older guy. Aljoscha, I think his name was. Christoph invited me to their show when I stopped by that day,” Oliver said.

                “Who’s Christoph,” Richard asked, unsure of who Oliver was referring to.

                “The piercer?”

                “I thought his name was Schneider,” Richard asked, uncertain if there was a new piercer at the shop.

                “Yeah, it is. He’s got a first name,” Oliver explained, blush rising to his cheeks.

                Richard raised an eyebrow, wondering when exactly the two had gotten to first name basis but let him continue. He figured that would be included in this story somehow.

                He realized he had lost his train of thought thinking about Christoph’s lopsided grin and fumbled through his next few words. “See, I went-, he invited me, well it was for-, they were-,” he stopped, took a deep breath, and collected his thoughts. “It was Flake’s birthday,” he repeated slowly, trying to ground himself. He was getting flustered trying to get the words out too quickly. “And, and … Chr- Schneider invited me to come along and see them perform.”

                “You went back to the shop? Got something else,” Richard teased, trying not to laugh at his friend bumbling through his attempt to recount the story.

                Oliver’s hand flew to his ear, subconsciously checking his earrings and twiddling the back around.

                “You did!” Richard exclaimed with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, go on,” he quickly apologized. He would have to tell Till about this. “You got another piercing and Schneider asked you to go to the show,” he supplied helpfully, hoping Oliver wouldn’t get distracted again.

                “Uh, yeah, so I went to see them at a bar in Kreuzberg. It was pretty good actually, a bit chaotic. They’re a really good punk band though, you should check out their stuff. I danced, I drank …” he trailed off, taking a large swig of whatever mixed drink Richard made.

                Richard waited patiently for the rest of the sentence. “…I may have kissed Christoph,” he mumbled quickly under his breath.

                “What?!”

                Oliver’s eyes went comically wide as he said, “A few times. Maybe for a few minutes. Possibly longer.”

                Richard clapped loudly, cheering and laughing as he did so. “Good for you! Who kissed who? How drunk were you two?”

                Oliver let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and grinned at the memory of Doom’s lips on his throat. “It was sort of mutual, I mean I asked but then we just sort of started kissing and-,”

                “You asked? Like you asked to kiss him,” Richard asked incredulously, amazed at how bashful Oliver was about the whole situation.

                “Yeah,” Oliver replied as if it were the obvious approach to take. “We were pretty drunk but I remember him being a really good kisser,” he said shyly. “He’s really attractive and all.” He refrained from adding _‘and he’s got a nice ass’_.

                “You asked to kiss him? How drunk were you, my goodness,” Richard laughed, clearly amused at the thought of a drunken Oliver stopping to ask an equally if not more drunken Schneider for permission. Only he would do something like that.

                “Very much so, that’s why I asked,” Oliver said, dropping his eyes to the floor before looking around the apartment for anything to distract him from Richard’s searching stare. “Anyways, we made out and it was a good concert,” he said, finishing his story.

                “That’s great news! Have you talked to him since?”

                “Uh.”

                “Oliver.”

                “I haven’t called him yet.”

                “Oliver.”

                “I mean I guess I could stop by the shop but-,”

                “Oliver,” Richard said sternly.

                “He hasn’t called me either so I …” he faltered upon seeing the look on Richard’s face. “I’ll go by.”

                After Oliver left, Richard picked up his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart.

                “Hello,” the voice answered.

                “Till? You were right about the Feeling B show, that was Oliver,” he said.

                “I don’t know why I wouldn’t be, Paul and Flake saw it too,” Till laughed. “Did you tell him I saw him?”

                “Of course not, I let him tell me his side of the story,” Richard said. “Got to let him have some shred of decency.”

                “You just couldn’t resist hearing the gossip,” Till teased. “Good thing though.”

                “Oh, and Till?”

                “Ja?”

                “He’s gotten another piercing,” Richard said, waiting for Till’s response.

                “I told you! I knew it,” Till cheered back, clearly pleased with the news.

\--

                Paul was muttering lyrics to Flake, scratching them down on the corner of his sketch. “I think we should work on experimenting with that keyboard bit you got stuck in my head. I think we could put that on the tape, yeah?” He made a note of it as Flake agreed with him. He tapped a rhythm out with the end of his pencil as he sang it to himself. “So saß er stumm am Feuer ... nur so aus langerweile ... too much? Ja? It needs a little more in between there,” he said. He scribbled a few more phrases in the margin, trying to figure out which he liked the best. “Flake?”

                Flake lifted his head up, responded with a quiet, “Ja?”

                “What did you think of the show Friday,” Paul questioned as he kept writing.

                A sly smile played about Flake’s features and he asked, “Which part?”

                “Schneider and his new boyfriend,” Paul laughed. “It’s strange isn’t it?”

                “Hmm, I haven’t seen him interested in anyone in quite some time,” Flake said with a nod. Neither of the two had seen Schneider take a liking to someone so quickly, although it may have had something to do with the fact that he was drunk. “He won’t own up to it you know.” As far as they knew, Schneider’s last relationship practically disintegrated when his ex insisted on moving too fast. Doom made it a point to never mix work and pleasure, although now it seemed to be a moot point.

                “Should we ask him about it,” Paul wondered aloud. He had hardly had a chance to talk to Oliver, and up until their concert, he was under the impression that Richard was his boyfriend. Given a few minutes with him, he would be able to determine whether or not Oliver was really interested in Schneider.

                “Of course,” Flake replied almost immediately. “We’ve got to find out more about this guy aside from him coming in for a piercing or two.” It was strange; Flake had never gone out of his way to find out any information about Doom’s customers, simply for the fact that he was just that; Doom’s customer. “Maybe we’ll get something from the source himself.”

                As if on cue, Schneider entered the shop and the two exchanged a mischievous glance. They hadn’t seen him since he had disappeared after the show and wandered home, although the question was if Oliver had gone with him. He greeted the two as he walked behind the counter, making his way to his part of the studio.

                “Schneider,” Flake called, “how are you feeling?”

                “Just fine,” Schneider replied quickly, avoiding eye contact as if he already knew what the two were going to ask him about.

                “Not too hungover huh,” Paul added, stopping Doom before he entered the back.

                “No, not really,” he answered, hovering in the doorway. “I didn’t think I drank that much,” he added.

                Those few words were all the other two needed to start their line of questioning. Schneider was not looking forward to hearing whatever jokes they had thought up over the weekend. “We were worried about you after you vanished,” Paul began.

                “Aljoscha especially,” Flake added.

                _These damn Siamese twins_ , Schneider thought to himself, wishing he had slinked off to the back quicker instead of stopping. He braced himself for their questions, almost wincing as he turned around and shuffled towards the others. He sat down a few feet away, wanting to get it over with so he could prepare for his appointments. “I made it home just fine,” he said, trying to brush it off.

                Flake could read the discomfort in his posture and looked to Paul as if to say _go easy on him_. Paul looked amused at that, knowing Schneider would give in with a little effort. “Did you get some help with that?”

                Doom glared daggers at Paul, clearly irritated at Paul’s question. It seemed like he always found a way to get under Schneider’s skin. “No,” he said flatly, not wanting the conversation to keep going in the direction it was headed in.

                “Are you sure? You seemed awful friendly with your client the other night,” Flake said, picking up the paper that Paul had been writing on and reading it over.

                Schneider gaped openly at them, he thought he had been somewhat discreet. Then again, he was sort of drunk. He was slightly mortified that the others had seen him, and even more worried what Oliver had thought now. From what he remembered, Oliver was more than willing but they were both under the influence and it was possible that he had come to regret it.

                “Shut up,” he said, not wanting to think about any of the situations that had popped into his mind. If he kept talking to them, he would only make himself even more annoyed.

                Doom’s flippant attitude hardly affected either of them though and Flake started snickering.

                “What’s so funny,” Schneider asked, irritation creeping into his tone.

                “You got caught,” Paul said, starting to laugh as well. It was unusual for Schneider to be so affectionate in public and he had gone overboard at the bar.

                Doom rolled his eyes, deciding that it wasn’t worth getting worked up about. They were right after all, he would only have to hear about it for the next week or so. He stood to leave and made his way to his office.

                Before he reached the door, he heard Flake’s voice yelling, “Schneider, your boyfriend is here!”

                “Haha, very funny Flake,” he called back mockingly, sighing in defeat at the fact that their taunting had already begun.

                Schneider heard the door open, followed by a low murmuring and then Paul yelled back, “Flake’s right, you’ve got a client.”

                Doom felt his heart drop into his stomach as he heard Oliver’s voice chuckling at Paul and Flake’s discussion about Dmitri. “He’s just in the back, go on in,” Flake said to Oliver. He heard footsteps and mentally cursed the fact that Flake didn’t distract him for longer. He tried to busy himself with his supplies, but found that he had already tided everything up the last time he was there. Of course, the one time he needed something to work on, there was nothing to do. He stared blankly at his work station for a few moments, unsure of what would happen next.

                He hadn’t exactly planned what he was going to say or do when he saw Oliver. Schneider figured that if he didn’t hear anything he would give Oliver a call, just to get a feel for the situation between them. Instead of waiting it out, Oliver had come to him directly, which was a thought that interested him but also terrified him. It meant that what happened the other night was important enough to show up and talk about; in person. He wished he had figured out some plan beforehand but it was a little late for that now.

                What was he going to say to Oliver? This could either be good news or bad news. Schneider weighed the possible outcomes quickly; either Oliver would be upset about what happened or he would be all right with the situation and pretend like it never happened. He realized that he wasn’t sure which outcome would be good news. What would Oliver say to him? Why didn’t he just call him instead, it would be so much easier over the phone. It wasn’t like he didn’t have Doom’s personal number. Despite Schneider panicking, Oliver was knocking softly on the ajar door.

                There was no getting out of this one.

                “Come in,” Doom replied, in a voice that conveyed much more confidence than he had. Oliver ducked through the doorway, a shy smile on his face as he stepped inside.

                “Hey,” Oliver said with a small wave.

                Schneider turned to face him, automatically grinning back as he greeted the taller man. “What brings you here today?” He wanted to keep the conversation neutral, figuring that would be the best approach. Oliver seemed to be in a pleasant mood, his expression not giving anything away.

                “I just wanted you to take a look at my piercing, I’m not sure its healing up properly,” Oliver said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked a little nervous suddenly as he awaited Schneider’s reply. “Flake and Paul told me that you would be able to check it quickly.”

                Doom beckoned him over to the chair, not really making eye contact with him until he pulled on a pair of gloves. He felt relieved that he had chosen a casual approach, although he couldn’t exactly shake the worry he felt. “What’s wrong with it,” he asked. “Has it gotten infected?” He looked at Oliver’s ears, wondering what had happened.

                Schneider gently grasped at his ears, looking for any signs of irritation but oddly enough there was nothing. Maybe he had the wrong piercing but a quick glimpse at Oliver’s nose confirmed that there was no problems there either. “Um, everything looks to be fine. Does it feel like its burning or something? Maybe you’re having an allergic reaction to the metal,” he said, running through the list of possible issues.

                “It’s my nose ring,” Oliver replied, pointing at the piercing. “It’s been feeling funny since I sort of ripped it out,” he explained.

                Doom looked closer, cautiously touching it in case it caused any pain for Oliver. He inspected the jewelry but everything seemed to be all right. Doom turned the ring, keeping an eye on Oliver’s reaction but nothing was bothering him. “Still looks all right,” he said, wondering what could be wrong with it.

                “Are you sure,” Oliver asked while moving to sit upright. “It doesn’t look infected at all?”

                Doom frowned, making sure to look at it even closer in case he missed something. If he had been paying attention to Oliver instead of the piercing, he would have noticed him shift his weight forward ever so slightly. Oliver smirked slightly and swiftly pulled Doom in, kissing him softly; much different from the kiss they shared in the bar. His lips were warm, moving languidly against Schneider’s. For a moment, Doom forgot where he was and let himself get swept up in the moment.

                Schneider felt a little bit relieved that he no longer had to worry about what Oliver was going to say. He ran his tongue across Oliver’s lips, sighing a little as he did so. Oliver shuddered a little, carding his long fingers through Schneider’s buzzed hair. Doom reached down to balance himself against the chair, trying to alleviate the awkward position. Instead of leaning on the chair like he had meant to, his hand ended up on Oliver’s thigh.

                _Shit._

                He was hesitant to pull his hand away; keeping it there might seem too forward and moving it away might come off as indecisive. Doom realized he was reading too far into the situation and his thoughts ran rampant when Oliver turned his body towards him. They broke apart briefly and Oliver took advantage of the break to swing his legs off the chair.

                “So I’m going to guess you don’t really have an infection,” Schneider asked with a smirk, keeping his eyes on the other man’s lips.

                Oliver grinned, a small laugh escaping his lips as he said, “No, I didn’t.”

                “Real smooth,” Schneider murmured.

                Oliver hummed in reply and Schneider kissed him again briefly. When he pulled away, he realized two things very quickly. The first being that Oliver had come to the shop and made up an imaginary infection just to see him. He was a bit flabbergasted, but charmed, at the thought. Fortunately all his overanalyzing of the other night was for naught. The second thing was that his hand was still on Oliver’s leg and higher than he had anticipated it being. He quickly withdrew his hand, trying his best not to look down at where it had rested previously.

                Before Schneider could sneak a glance down Oliver was kissing him again, this time with more intensity than before. Doom noticed that the roles were reversed this time and now Oliver had taken the lead, not that he was complaining. He felt Oliver pulling him even closer, as if he planned on pulling Doom into the chair with him. Oliver was surprisingly strong and Schneider was already halfway off his chair, with most of his weight on Oliver. He seemed to have no problems accommodating them, hands starting to slide down.

                Oliver pulled Schneider onto the chair, chuckling softly as they broke apart for a second. Doom felt his blood rush to his cheeks … as well as somewhere else. Oliver resumed kissing him, almost tentatively. Schneider didn’t seem offended by the fact that he was practically yanked onto the chair so he took it as a good sign. Oliver felt apprehensive, he hadn’t really planned out what he was going to do next.

                Oliver let his fingers drift through Schneider’s hair, resting them at the nape of his neck. Schneider sighed against his lips, clearly relaxed by it. The kiss was a lot different without the familiar buzz of alcohol hanging over the two of them. Doom’s fingers reached under the lapel of Oliver’s jacket, softly grazing against the skin there which made the taller man freeze slightly.

                Schneider stopped to look at Oliver, quickly assessing if he had roughly brushed against his piercings. “Are you all right,” he asked, finding nothing visibly wrong with his earrings.

                Oliver looked a little abashed as he mumbled, “Yeah it’s just a little sensitive right now.”

                “Your ears?”

                The tips of Oliver’s ears turned bright red as he answered quickly, “Uh no. My ears are fine.” He pulled his coat forward slightly as if he were trying to hide something from the other man.

                Doom’s eyes followed the movement and he reached for the jacket as soon as Oliver moved his hand, revealing what Oliver seemed to be so embarrassed about. His mouth hung open in shock for a second as he stared at the reddish-purple bruise on Oliver’s neck. More accurately, reddish-purple _bruises_ , as in multiple, that trailed down his neck. They were fading slightly but Schneider knew exactly when he had got them. “A-are those from …?”

                Oliver shyly smiled, nodded, and pulled his jacket back over to cover his neck. “Yeah,” he said.

                “Oh,” Schneider said quietly, unable to stop glancing at his neck even though it was covered. “I’m sorry,” he said, somewhat surprised that he had gotten so carried away. He felt oddly possessive, wanting to reach over and uncover them. He let his hand fall back into his own lap. Doom fell quiet, wondering if Oliver regretted letting him go so far. Almost the entire side of his neck was covered, a clear line from his ear to his collarbone. It looked a little extreme if he was being realistic and suddenly he felt nervous that maybe he had gone too far for Oliver’s liking.

                “It’s okay,” he said softly, finally looking up at Schneider as if he could read his mind. “I sort of li- uh... I don’t mind it at all,” Oliver said, catching himself before he said something completely ridiculous.

                Schneider smiled and leaned in again, pecking him on the lips. As much as he wanted to forget about his job and keep kissing Oliver, he had to get ready for his appointments. “Good,” he said, feeling a little bold. “Uh, I don’t know how to say this but I … I’ve got to prepare for my next client.” He pushed himself out of the chair, noticing how strange the whole situation was. He felt silly for letting himself be literally pulled around like a rag doll by Oliver.

                “All right,” Oliver said as he got to his feet with a dazed sort of expression. He smiled again at Schneider before striding over to him. “I’ll call you later,” he said, then leaned in to kiss him once more before turning to leave.

                Doom stood frozen as he heard Oliver say his goodbyes to Flake and Paul. He couldn’t help but feel anticipation and excitement knowing that he would hear from Oliver later that night. Did that really just happen?  He was a little disappointed that it had ended so soon but he quickly reasoned with himself that it wouldn’t have gone any further anyways. He felt anything else would have been unhygienic for such a sterile space, not to mention too much in general.

                “Did you kiss your boyfriend goodbye,” Flake yelled from the hallway.

                Flake’s voice sounded awfully close to his door. He heard the sounds of Paul’s laughter and it struck him that the two had probably been eavesdropping on him and Oliver. Doom responded with a resoundingly loud, “Shut up!"


	11. Licht

                Flake and Paul were murmuring to each other about the benefits of mouse bedding when the phone rang. They both exchanged a look that said _you pick it up_. They watched it ring three more times before Flake sighed in exasperation and finally gave in, lifting up the receiver. “Metall und Tinte,” he answered, glaring at Paul as he spoke. _‘I answered it last time’_ he mouthed at Paul, covering the speaker of the phone.

                “Hallo, ist Schneider da,” the voice on the other end of the receiver asked him politely.

                “Ja, he’s with a client right now. Would you like to leave him a message,” Flake asked as Paul stuck his tongue out at him.

                “Yeah, could you tell him Oliver called,” he asked hesitantly. He stopped short, trying to play it off as a coughing attack.

                Flake raised an eyebrow skeptically, then realized the other man couldn’t see him through the phone. “Ist das alles?”

                “Erm, I guess so. I suppose you wouldn’t happen to know if he’s free tonight, would you,” he ventured curiously, if anything Flake could inform him that they had practice.

                “Nein, Schneider has no social life as far as we know,” he replied as Schneider walked into the room with his newly pierced client. At the mention of his name, Doom narrowed his eyes at the tattoo artist.

                “Uh… oh. Well then…”

                Flake waited patiently for Oliver to get to the point. He was really doing Schneider a favor at this point; Oliver was taking much too long to figure out what he wanted. Maybe by the time Doom picked up the phone, Oliver would be ready to talk properly.

                “Would you know if Christoph has a bike helmet,” Oliver asked.

                That wasn’t exactly the question he was expecting and he pulled the phone away from his ear to look at it in confusion. He held it to his ear and asked, “A what?” He didn’t miss the fact that he called Schneider by his first name but decided not to question it. He hardly wanted to get into that discussion with Oliver. It was sure to be something extraordinarily sappy.

                “A bike helmet. Like one for riding,” Oliver tried to clarify. “I have one that fits my friend but I’m not sure if it’ll fit him.”

                “I don’t know, Schneider’s head is pretty large,” Flake replied, earning a snicker from Paul. He could feel Doom’s stare boring a hole in the back of his head. “Oh he’s just finished with the customer, would you like to speak with him?”

                “Sure. Thanks Flake,” he said before Flake passed the phone off to Schneider.

                “You’re welcome for picking up your boyfriend’s call,” he said over his shoulder when he was sure he was out of Schneider’s reach. “Paul was going to let it go until he hung up.”

                “Halt’s maul,” he hissed before finally addressing Oliver. “Hello?”

                “Hey,” Oliver said shyly. “Would you, I- I mean, are you … uh do you want to go on a date?” He mentally scolded himself for sounding so unsure.

                Schneider was momentarily stunned into silence.

                “Tonight maybe? That is, if you aren’t too busy,” he added, choosing to refrain from reminding him of Flake’s comment. “I can pick you up if you want or we can meet up somewhere, uh-“ he stopped short, realizing that Schneider hadn’t answered him yet. “Christoph?”

                “Ja,” Schneider said.

                “Did you catch that?”

                “Ja.”

                “Oh …so would you like to?”

                “Ja.”

                “You’re not busy?”

                “Tonight?”

                “Is tonight good for you? We can go anytime you’d like,” he said apprehensively, hoping that Schneider would just say yes.

                “We close in a little over four hours, does that work,” Schneider asked, finally snapping out of his daze.

                “Great, I’ll see you then,” Oliver said cheerfully before saying goodbye and hanging up.

                He put the phone down slowly. _A date._ Oliver asked him out on _a date_. He would see him in four hours. He panicked a little bit when he realized that he hadn’t agreed on a place to meet. Oliver said he would see him when they closed, did that mean he was coming to meet him?

                “I hope whatever Oliver’s got planned, it’s big enough to fit on Schneider’s head,” Flake murmured to Paul. They both chuckled, Schneider cutting his eyes at the other two again before pulling on his coat and stalking off for lunch.

                He strode out into the bright sunlight, squinting to adjust to the whiteness of the sun reflecting off the snow. His stride slowed as he realized he had no destination in mind and he wasn’t sure if he had his wallet. He wasn’t too far from the shop but it was a little too cold to go back now, so he opted to duck into the first restaurant he saw.

                He ordered a sandwich and fries, figuring he would eat something that keep him full for a while in case Oliver’s plans didn’t include dinner. As he waited, he became anxious. What were the other man’s plans? He was too shocked to think of asking him what they would be doing that late. Most businesses would be closing by the time he finished working. That only left two real options which were either going to a bar or possibly inviting him back to his apartment. The first choice wasn’t too bad, they had already been to a bar before. He might have gone a little too far, but Oliver didn’t seem to mind. The second option worried him, if he asked him to come home with him then it was liable to go further than it would in a bar.

                When Schneider’s order was called, he shook himself from his thoughts and collected his food. He was getting ahead of himself with no real reason to, Oliver hadn’t told him anything. He found Flake’s comment to be strange. He had no idea what turn the conversation had taken for them to discuss the size of his head. He should have asked about that too but he was too annoyed at Flake for calling Oliver his boyfriend.

                It dawned on him that he wasn’t exactly wrong though. They did kiss (a lot) and now Oliver was asking him out on a date. While they weren’t exactly in a relationship, they were sort of seeing each other, right? Or they would be. Again, he was getting ahead of himself. He wanted to just go with the flow and enjoy their time together. That would be the best approach. He entered the shop again, murmuring that he had returned to the tattoo artists who were both busy at work with customers. Only three and a half hours left.

                He ate lunch quietly, thinking about his next appointments. Schneider hoped that they would keep his mind occupied until his impending date. A few ear piercings, a tongue piercing, and a nose ring were all on his schedule. There was no custom jewelry to worry about, just the basics for all of them. After he was done, he cleaned up his space and prepared for his next appointment.

                He found that time passed much slower than he would have liked. Doom still had an hour to kill, getting through his schedule much faster than he anticipated. He worked through organizing his own supplies and their shared supply room. Schneider realized his hands were slightly shaky, feeling nervous as the time drew closer. He heard a low rumbling from outside, something akin to the idling of an engine.

                “You back there with the giant head,” Paul yelled.

                Schneider rolled his eyes, putting down what was in his hands and going to see what Paul wanted. “Paul, I swear if you don’t-” he stopped short upon seeing the figure outside in the front of shop.

                A figure clad in all black stepped off a motorcycle and onto the curb, pushing open the door to the tattoo parlor. Schneider’s breath hitched in his throat as the man pulled off his full face helmet. He stowed the helmet under his arm and smiled at the shop’s employees. “Hey,” he said to them, a little breathlessly. “It’s a bit cold out huh?”

                Oliver looked _amazing_.

                “Uh,” Schneider said stupidly, mouth agape. “Sure,” he agreed.

                Paul and Flake snickered at Doom’s slow response and Paul greeted Oliver loudly to cover it. “Freezing out isn’t it? Schneider, you’re off yeah?”

                He managed to nod in response before speaking to Oliver, “let me just grab my stuff.” He disappeared into his office to pull on his jacket. He rushed back out, yanking his arm into the sleeve, hoping to catch Oliver before the other two said something ridiculous to him. When he reached the front again, Oliver was laughing with the tattoo artists. Schneider felt a sense of relief as Oliver turned his gaze to him, a warmth flooding through him.

                “Ready to go,” Oliver asked him, a wide grin still on his face.

                “Yeah,” he replied.

                “All right, see you guys later,” Oliver said, waving at the guys before turning to leave.

                “Bye,” Schneider added as more of an afterthought, glancing back at them. Paul had his arms wrapped around Flake, doing his best love struck impression. Flake had his eyes screwed shut blindly kissing at the air, pawing at the front of Paul’s t-shirt. Schneider made a small choking sound as he scrambled outside after Oliver. He nearly tripped over the threshold in an effort to keep Oliver’s eyes away from the shop. He looked back at the shop to find that they had broken apart and were doubled over laughing.

                He turned back to find himself, stumbling over Oliver’s feet. Oliver gave him a small smile, a hand on the small of Doom’s back. They stared at each other for a moment until Oliver cleared his throat. He wanted to kiss Schneider very badly but didn’t want to give him the wrong impression on their first date. First real date, he supposed.

                “Right, you’re going to need this,” Oliver said, turning to his motorcycle to pull a spare helmet off the back. “I’m hoping it fits you all right, Richard’s got sort of a square head,” he mumbled, passing the helmet to Schneider. Doom felt a small flare of jealousy at Richard’s name, knowing it was totally irrational. He let his fingers linger on Oliver’s for a bit before taking the helmet. Schneider put the half helmet over his head and snapped the buckle underneath his chin.

                Oliver reached for the strap and asked, “Can I adjust it for you?”

                Schneider nodded and the helmet slid forward slightly towards his eyes.

                Oliver chuckled lightly, pushing it back to where it belonged. He held his finger between the strap and Schneider’s cheek, tugging at the strap gently until it was snug. “It’s not too tight, is it?” He checked it over once more, leaning in to adjust the strap and pressed a chaste kiss to Schneider’s cheek quickly before turning back to the bike. He pulled his own helmet on, leaving Doom a little dazed. Oliver was extremely sweet.

                “Hop on,” he said through his helmet, voice slightly muffled. “Hungry?”

                Schneider nodded, he wasn’t sure how well Oliver could hear through the helmet. Oliver clambered onto the motorcycle, waiting patiently for Doom to get on as well. Seeing Oliver on the bike made it look much smaller than it was, his tall frame covering much more of the motorcycle than the average person would. Schneider felt apprehensive once he realized that Oliver meant for him to get on the back. He was a bit hesitant, he hadn’t ridden on a motorbike before. He sidled onto the back, trying not to be too close. He loosely wrapped his arms around Oliver’s stomach and adjusted himself to get comfortable.

                Oliver kick started the bike and pulled Schneider’s arms forward. “You’ve really got to hold on,” he said.

                Doom tightened his hold on Oliver’s waist, leaving him no real choice but to keep his chin on Oliver’s shoulder. It was hard to hear anything of the roar of the engine but was comfortable enough with his position on the back of the bike. The bike lurched forward and they took off towards their destination. Schneider held on even tighter as he felt the vibrations reverberate through his legs.

                The wind whipped against his face as Oliver accelerated and he felt a bit of a chill. Schneider shivered against Oliver’s back and moved closer as best he could. It was a strange feeling and he found himself embarrassed for the second time that day. He almost felt small, which he was not by any means. Yet Oliver was a good three or four inches taller than he was and could lift Schneider easily like he had done earlier that day. Now here he was, clinging to Oliver on the back of his motorcycle.

                He was still shocked that Oliver had one, they were hard to come by even as imports. He made a mental note to ask him how he had come across it later on. Schneider took in the scenery whipping past them, city blocks and street lights blurring together. Schneider began to feel the chill settling into his bones as they continued riding and hoped they would reach their destination soon. It was even colder than he anticipated and if they didn’t get there soon, he would be frozen onto Oliver’s back. Not that he really minded.

                They slowed to a stop about ten minutes later outside of a pretty nondescript restaurant. Doom had never seen it before and he wasn’t even sure if he was familiar with the part of town they were in. Oliver parked the motorbike carefully and shut it off, removing his helmet. Doom realized he was still wrapping around Oliver and let go somewhat awkwardly. He followed suit and slid off the back of the bike as Oliver stepped off. “Oh shit,” Schneider swore as his legs began to shake.

                Oliver grabbed onto his forearm, steadying him slightly. “Sometimes it takes a little getting used to when it comes to the engine,” he said with a soft smile. “Got your balance all right? I hope you don’t mind breakfast food this late,” he said, jerking his head at the diner behind them. They walked into the dinner together, finding it nearly deserted. There were only two other patrons in the restaurant at the moment and they appeared to be fighting off sleep. “I like coming here late at night, it’s always really quiet,” Oliver explained as they sat down next to each other at the bar-style counter.

                Schneider’s wobbly leggedness had worn off a little once he had sat again but he still felt as if he were standing in jello. He tried to put the discomfort of the odd sensation out of his mind as he picked up the menu. He was a bit jittery, nerves setting in as the fact that they were on a date set in. He felt a little foolish as well yet there was no logical reason for him to feel the way he did.

                Oliver was watching him instead of looking at the menu, looking slightly sheepish. He looked as if he wanted to ask Schneider something, and indeed he did, but he held back. He was going over different scenarios in his head; thinking of somewhere a bit more lively for their next date. That was, if there was going to be another. He sincerely hoped they would go on more dates. He was getting a bit ahead of himself.

                A waitress came by and set two glasses of water between them, letting them know she could take their orders when they were ready. She didn’t linger long, choosing to tend to another patron slouched across a booth. “Do you recommend anything special?” Schneider said, finally tearing his gaze away from the menu.

                “It’s all tasty. Whatever you’re in the mood for is probably delicious,” Oliver replied. “I usually get a lot, I’m always really hungry when I come here,” he explained.

                “And why is that,” Schneider questioned.

                “Why is what?”

                “Why are you always starving when you come here,” he clarified.

                “Ah. Well … it’s open really late … and I may or may not be under the influence,” Oliver admitted in a low murmur.

                “More of an afterhours type of place then,” Doom asked.

                “Yeah, you could say that,” Oliver grinned.

                “What are you doing up that late,” Schneider asked innocently. “Clubs and such?”

                Oliver’s straw missed his mouth at that question and ended up poking himself in the nose. He thought of the clubs he frequented with Richard and Till, trying to not to let his expression give anything away. “Yeah, the usual,” he said quickly, praying that Schneider wouldn’t ask anything else.

                Doom hardly noticed Oliver’s strained expression as he looked over the menu again. “We’ll have to go together sometime,” he added as an afterthought.

                “Yeah we should,” he chuckled nervously, wanting this topic of conversation to end.

                “It would be fun,” Schneider said, flipping his own menu over, thinking of how interesting it was when Oliver attended their concert. He smirked to himself at the thought of the hickeys still on Oliver’s neck.

                Oliver looked as if he were going to explode and hopped up from his seat. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing behind a door on the other side of the diner. He tried to think of an inconspicuous club that they could go to together but came up blank. Anywhere he went with Till and Richard was on the more taboo side, and definitely not somewhere they could go right away.

                Schneider nodded absentmindedly as Oliver walked away, still thinking about what could happen if they went to a club together. That was of course, if they went on another date. He felt almost hopeful about that prospect. He patiently waited for Oliver to come back and then the waitress returned shortly after to take their orders. Once she did, they were silent for a few moments with Schneider drumming his fingers against the counter and Oliver tracing invisible patterns with his finger.

                Oliver thought about how awful he could be at small talk, running through suitable topics to talk about in his mind. Finally he asked, “How was work?”

                “Pretty busy. But it went by quickly today,” Schneider replied. “Mostly because I had something to look forward to,” he added with a grin. Oliver smiled back shyly, feeling flattered. The waitress returned a few minutes later with their food, setting a near platter of breakfast food in front of Oliver and Doom. She pulled another two plates from her tray, giving Schneider chocolate pancakes and Oliver blueberry. “Holy shit,” Schneider said, eyes wide at the spread in front of them.

                Oliver snickered and began heaping a portion of scrambled eggs and sausage onto his plate. He drizzled syrup over his food and then began to eat immediately. He looked ravenously hungry, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Schneider pulled a few things off as well and started eating, making a noise of appreciation. It was delicious, exactly what he needed after a long day of work.

                “Do you want some,” Oliver asked him. Schneider looked up to see him offering a square of pancake on the end of his fork. Doom nodded, leaning over to bite it. He made another sound of satisfaction and mumbled ‘sehr gut’ through his mouthful. Although it wasn’t meant to be, Oliver found it incredibly hot and dropped his gaze to his plate.

                “You want some of mine?” Schneider asked. It was an innocent enough question but Oliver couldn’t help but snicker at the unintended meaning.

                “Ja,” he replied.

                Doom cut off a large chunk of his pancake, making sure to include a few chocolate chips and held it out. The piece fell off the end of the fork and Schneider moved to pick it up with his fingers. “Damn, I’ll give you another pie-“

                “It’s fine,” Oliver said, holding up a hand to cut him off. Before Schneider could react, he leaned over and reached his tongue out, taking the piece from between Schneider’s fingers. He looked directly into Schneider’s eyes as he did so, drawing back with a smirk. Doom watched in fascination, finally registering what just occurred. Instead of gaping at him like an idiot, he chose to lick the syrup off his own fingers, not once breaking eye contact with Oliver. Thankfully the diner was close to empty, so there was no real audience except for each other.

                Schneider felt a tightening in the front of his pants and swore internally when they finished eating and got up to leave. He made sure to stay behind over until they got outside where the darkness of the night would hopefully conceal him.  

                Oliver passed him the helmet again, a strange look in his eyes as he checked it over once Schneider had it on. He pulled his own helmet on and started up the bike once again. Doom carefully climbed on, making sure he wasn’t pressed flush against Oliver like he was the first time they rode there. It would have been very obvious what was on Schneider’s mind. They rode for a few minutes through the city before Oliver pulled over on a bridge. “Here we are,” he announced before moving to get off the bike. Schneider practically jumped off, trying to not to get caught by Oliver.

                The cobblestone bridge was dimly lit and just far enough out of the way from prying eyes. Schneider faced the water, looking out over the bridge and into the water. The lights of the residential neighborhood reflected off the water, giving it a pretty sort of twinkling effect.

                “It’s very nice, isn’t it,” Oliver asked, voice purring right in his ear.  

                “Ja,” Schneider replied, trying to not let the effect Oliver’s voice had on him show. He suppressed a shiver but leaned his head back, exposing the slightest sliver of his neck. Schneider closed his eyes as Oliver’s lips brushed against his ear, moving lower to kiss at his neck. Oliver moved closer, letting his hands drift toward Schneider’s waist as he nuzzled his neck. Schneider turned around, finally unable to hold back and captured Oliver’s lips with his own. He tasted of blueberries and sticky sweet syrup and Schneider couldn’t get enough.

                Oliver deepened the kiss, nipping at Schneider’s bottom lip and pulling him even closer. He could feel Doom’s hardness pressing against his thigh and hooked his fingers into his belt loops, wanting to keep him pressed against him for as long as possible. He felt Schneider caressing his hair, hands beginning to scratch at him lightly. He tugged on the other man’s belt loops, causing Schneider to brush against his own hardness and Doom let out a small whimper.

                A car engine could be heard approaching and Schneider and Oliver sprung apart, startled. Schneider spotted the headlights of a car headed toward the bridge and pulled his helmet back on. “We should go,” he urged and Oliver agreed, getting back on the bike.

                “My place?” Schneider offered.

                “Okay,” Oliver replied enthusiastically. “Where do you live then?”

                Schneider climbed on, this time not bothering to hide his boner from the other man. They took off, the bike jumping back for a second; causing Oliver to push back right into Doom. Schneider felt extremely horny and groaned softly but it was drowned out by the engine of the motorcycle. He gave Oliver directions and they sped off, only slowing down when they were safely out of sight of the car.

                Once they reached Schneider’s apartment, an air of tension settled over the two. Schneider yanked off his helmet and hastily secured it on the bike. He reached for Oliver’s hand and led him to the door of the building. Oliver allowed himself to be led inside, walking up three flights of stairs before they finally stood outside his door. 37, the plaque read and he made a mental note to himself. Instead of going inside, Schneider began to kiss him again but much more carefully. It was gentle and slow, there was no reason to rush through it now.

                It was strange to be kissing in the hallway outside of his apartment but at this time of night, it was highly unlikely that anyone would see them. Schneider’s kisses were feather light, tickling at his mouth and neck. He pulled back suddenly, as if he had been caught again and smiled softly at Oliver. “It’s getting late,” Schneider said with a sigh.

                “Yeah,” Oliver agreed.

                “I had a really great time tonight,” Schneider said as he stepped back and then Oliver understood what he meant. Doom retrieved his keys from his pocket and unlocked his door, looking to Oliver once more.

                Oliver stepped forward and kissed him softly, before smiling and stepping back. “I did too. Let’s do it again sometime,” he said with a warm smile. Schneider nodded then went inside his apartment. Oliver turned to leave, feeling happy and buoyant as he made his way back outside.

                --

                The next morning Oliver awoke much later than usual, having slept through his alarm completely. Luckily, he had nothing to do and nowhere to go that day. He rolled on his back, stretching out his muscles in an attempt to shake off his grogginess. He sighed contentedly, a smile on his face as he recalled the events of the night prior. He felt a chill and pulled the sheets over his exposed chest, dragging his hands up. His hand brushed against his boxers, alerting him to a more …pressing issue.

                He lazily reached a hand beneath the sheets, trailing it along the waistband of his boxers. He had no plans so there was no reason to rush through this. He could drag it out for as long as he saw fit. He let his fingers trace patterns on his thighs, drawing ever closer to his groin. A mounting sense of anticipation was growing in his stomach as he pulled his underwear down. It was just enough, so that his cock was exposed to the soft cotton sheets now clinging to him. A small sigh escaped his lips as the sheets pulled against his hot skin.

                He let his fingers wrap around his length, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensation. Oliver moved his other hand to caress his neck, much like Schneider had the previous night. Now that was something he would happily replicate. He slid his hand down the center of his chest in the same way Schneider did, lightly pinching at his nipples. Surely Doom wouldn’t have done that right away but he could deviate from that for his own pleasure. He wished Schneider were there to bite and nuzzle his neck as well but for now this would do.

                He set a slow, steady pace at first; carefully teasing the sensitive skin there. He imagined Schneider softly murmuring in his ear before nipping at it. Oliver could feel the hot breath tickling at his neck, laughter warm and low against his shoulder, and see Doom’s toothy, drunken grin smiling at him from the darkness of his lids. Recalling their conversation from the night before about visiting clubs together was too tempting. Would Schneider like the S&M bars hidden in the abandoned factories of Berlin? Schneider would look particularly inviting in a pair of fitted leather pants, maybe even _his own_ leather pants. The thought of Doom wearing his clothing made him feel oddly possessive and all the more turned on.

                He groaned as he increased his speed, thinking of how Schneider would sound. He flipped over onto his stomach, thrusting against his now slick-hand. He wanted Schneider underneath him so badly, to pin him to the bed and fuck him until he screamed. Oliver could feel pre-cum leaking onto his hand and he was so close. He wondered if Schneider was silent and serious or if he was loud and wild; all roaming hands and breathy moans combined with long drawn-out kisses. He needed to know what Schneider sounded like, how he would call out his name and-

                He came with a drawn-out moan, collapsing onto the pillow and now damp sheets beneath him. Suddenly his breath seemed too loud, too shaky and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Oliver laid still for a few minutes, letting his breathing even out and his body calm down. He really wanted to go further with Schneider and last night seemed like a tease, or perhaps it was meant to be a preview. Either way, he craved more of it.

                Then, he heard a knock at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate y'all taking time to write reviews, so so so so so much :)


	12. Stripped

                “Quit jerking off and open the door,” Richard yelled.

                Oliver sprang out of his bed, nearly tripping in his sheets to pull a pair of sweatpants on. He fumbled with them as Richard knocked on the door again, a little louder. He closed the door to his room behind him, hiding any incriminating evidence as he made his way to the door. He opened the door and was greeted with Richard and a small plastic container of food.

                Richard greeted him with a cheeky smile, pushing the container into his hands. “Careful not to get anything sticky on my dish please.”

                “Listen I was-“ Oliver began before Richard cut him off.

                “So I’m gonna take a wild guess that you still haven’t gotten any?” Richard asked with a snicker. Oliver stammered out a half-hearted reply as he searched for a fork. Richard’s eyes went wide as he realized he was entirely right. “No,” he whispered softly. “I was only kidding…”

                Oliver pried the top off the container and began stuffing food into his mouth hungrily instead of answering Richard immediately. He finally answered Richard’s patient gaze with a quiet response of, “Not exactly.” Richard waited for clarification as he took another bite. “We’re sort of taking things slowly, I suppose.”

                “Has he invited you back to his apartment at all?” Richard asked.

                “Well sort of, yes in a way,” Oliver responded thoughtfully as he stuck the bottom of the container with his fork.

                Richard raised an eyebrow.

                “Well, I picked him up from the shop once and we went out on a date. Then I dropped him off but I didn’t go inside his apartment,” Oliver told him. “Since then, we’ve been on a few more dates but …”

                “You invited him back to your place then?”

                Oliver turned bright red at that, starting to stammer again.

                “Whoa, whoa, don’t bust a blood vessel, I’m only teasing you,” Richard said with a grin, playfully nudging the other man’s shoulder. “So you haven’t been to each other’s places, what are you waiting for?”

                “Richard…” Oliver began.

                “I know, not everyone is Till and I, but you guys are taking longer than it took the wall to fall,” Richard added. What they needed was a little spark to get things going. He didn’t know much about Schneider but for Oliver, he would never try to force things to happen quicker; he preferred to go with the flow. He thought about it for a moment, then he finally got an idea. “Tell you what, bring him out with us, we’ll do Prinzenbar or KitKat.”

                Oliver looked nervous at his suggestion, he had no idea how Schneider would react to something like that. “I’m not sure it’s the best idea.”

                “Trust me,” Richard said. “Nothing too serious, I’ll behave I promise! I’ll bring Till along as well so he’ll have someone ‘normal’ to talk with aside from you.” The emphasis on the word normal was almost a joking tone.

                “I’ll run it by him and see,” Oliver sighed, deciding it couldn’t hurt to try. Richard seemed excited enough about the idea and it would make for an interesting date.  

                “Good. Now all you have to do is make it to his apartment,” Richard grinned.

\---

                He climbed the staircase, taking them two at a time. Richard’s words rang in his head as he reached door thirty-seven. He finally had taken the plunge and called up Schneider, and Schneider surprisingly invited him over. He stood outside for a moment, checking his pockets for a slightly-crushed carton of cigarettes. Oliver knocked gently and waited for Schneider to answer. Once the door opened, Oliver was greeted with a warm smile from Schneider. It seemed that he was still just waking up; barefoot in a wrinkled t-shirt and tousled hair. “Morning,” Doom said sleepily. Oliver stepped forward and leaned in to quickly press a kiss to Schneider’s lips.

                Before Oliver could pull away, Doom pulled him back for another kiss then grinned cheekily and led the way into the apartment. He was glad to see that Oliver didn’t have any hang ups about the last time he visited. Schneider still felt apprehensive about not inviting Oliver inside on their previous dates but tried not to let it show. It had been a few weeks since then but Schneider hadn’t invited him over until now.

                Oliver stepped inside after Schneider, closing the door behind him and shrugging off his jacket. As he kicked off his shoes and stepped into the apartment, he noticed the overpowering scent of weed. That explained why he looked so sleepy still. As if on cue, Doom padded his way back into the room with a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. The aroma of tobacco mingled in the air as he drew closer to Oliver with a toothy smile. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” Schneider asked softly, exhaling the smoke to the side to be polite.

                “Not at all,” Oliver replied, taking a seat on the couch. “It is your place.”

                Schneider laughed as he collapsed onto the sofa with Oliver. “You’re free to smoke as well,” he said, resting his head against Oliver’s arm. His weight was warm and heavy against Oliver’s body, clearly relaxed. “I’ve got stronger than a cigarette,” he hinted, waving around the nearly burnt out butt of the cigarette.

                Oliver thought about it for a moment; he certainly was in no rush to go anywhere and could use some time to unwind. “All right,” he agreed.

                Schneider pushed himself to his feet slowly, starting toward his room. He took a few steps before realizing Oliver hadn’t moved to follow. He turned back and offered a hand to Oliver. “C’mon,” he said, a sly smile playing about his features.

                Oliver reached for Schneider’s hand, letting himself be pulled off the couch and trailed behind the other man. As Doom reached the threshold, he let go of Oliver’s hand and made his way to a small stereo set up next to his bed. Oliver stood tentatively, realizing that the only places to sit were the unmade bed or the floor. The curtains were pulled shut, with the only light in the room being a small lamp on a nightstand. It was dark yet cozy and the smell of weed was much stronger, with faint undertones of possibly cologne. Clicking could be heard as Schneider fiddled with the stereo before finally hitting play. He all but flopped onto his bed after that.

                He still had his back to Oliver as he reached into his nightstand for an already rolled joint and lighter. Oliver leaned against the doorway, smirking at the sight of Schneider laying around in his boxers. His shirt had ridden up just enough to show a sliver of skin above the waistband of his shorts. Oliver cast an appreciative eye over the curve of his backside. Schneider chose that moment to roll over and look back at Oliver, causing the blond to quickly avert his eyes. The only indication that Schneider gave that he did catch Oliver staring was a raised eyebrow and an amused expression. He lit the joint between his fingers, took a puff, and beckoned Oliver over.

                Oliver obeyed and his mind went blank as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed nervously. He moved to shuck off his shoes before realizing that he had already taken them off. Schneider looked at him quizzically before chuckling and exhaling. Oliver swung his legs onto the bed, making himself comfortable against the pillows. Doom offered him the joint and the mechanical clicking of the song filled the air. As he inhaled, he noticed Schneider watching him with a goofy sort of grin. He exhaled in surprise and innocently asked, “What is it?”

                “You’re very attractive,” Schneider replied unabashedly.

                Oliver couldn’t help but laugh at that, continuing to smoke. They passed it back and forth a few times, relaxing in each other’s presence as a warm haze settled over the two of them. Schneider scooted progressively closer to Oliver before finally moving to straddle him. Oliver could feel the heat of Schneider’s body through the heavy denim of his jeans. The blond was having a hard time concentrating on anything that wasn’t Doom at that point. He watched the way Schneider smoked, spotting a silver shimmer through the clouds of smoke. He was definitely high, his eyes taking on a glassy stare and beginning to droop. Schneider held the spliff loosely between his fingers, still sitting on Oliver’s thighs.  He took a deep drag before pulling Oliver’s mouth to his and exhaled the smoke.

                Oliver pulled Schneider closer to him and ran his tongue along Christoph’s lips; tasting the faintest hint of sweetness from the blunt paper and the harsh edge of the nicotine and weed smoke. He ran a hand up Schneider’s shirt, taking his time to marvel at how smooth his skin was. Schneider broke the kiss to yank his shirt up over his head and threw it to the ground before resuming. Once Doom noticed the blunt was just about spent, he leaned over and extinguished it. He gently pushed Oliver back, hinting for him to lay down completely. Oliver took the cue and watched as Schneider maneuvered himself above him. Doom dipped his head down, pressing teasing kisses to Oliver’s lips and cheek. Oliver decided very quickly that he didn’t want to be teased and promptly wrapped his arms around Schneider. The unexpected force of Oliver’s arms dragged Doom down as he deepened the kiss. Oliver kissed him languidly, stroking the back of Schneider’s neck gently. He could feel Schneider’s body laying flush against his, nearly overloading his senses.

_Help me get away from myself..._

                Schneider’s grip on Oliver tightened as he kissed him with more intensity. He moved to lick at Oliver’s neck, earning something between a moan and a breathy sigh. He could feel himself growing hard and instead of shying away, he pressed against Oliver’s hip and rocked himself ever so slightly.

                Oliver’s hips bucked up to meet Schneider’s, his jeans rubbing against both himself and Schneider’s boxers. “Fuck,” Oliver breathed softly. He caught Schneider’s lip between his teeth as Schneider pulled up the hem of his shirt. Schneider felt the tickle of hair against his hand as he inched it beneath Oliver’s waistband. Oliver arched into Schneider’s touch, turning his head away to exhale a shaky breath.

_I wanna fuck you like an animal..._

                Schneider took advantage of that, snaking an arm around Oliver’s thin waist and flipping him so that their positions were reversed. Doom gripped his thighs possessively, gently squeezing them. Oliver’s legs looked slender compared to his hands. His hands brushed over the denim, slowly moving up towards Oliver’s torso.

_I want to feel you from the inside..._

                Schneider pulled Oliver’s shirt up, tugging it off and flinging it off the bed to join his shirt. Once he did that, he continued to kiss Oliver’s face and neck while palming him through his jeans. Oliver let his eyes slide shut, caught up in the pleasure he felt. Schneider’s hands and lips felt wonderful and the occasional brush of his tongue ring felt heavenly. Schneider teased him, unbuttoning his pants but refraining from taking them off. He ran his hands along Oliver’s body, tracing the shape of his muscles and kissing them lightly. Doom was feeling incredibly high, choosing to slow down in lieu of fumbling around. However he didn’t bother to hide his hardness as Oliver sat up.

                The cassette faded out and clicked off as the play button sprang up. Schneider groaned, he didn’t want Oliver to get up just yet. Doom squeezed his legs once, signaling that he had to move to either flip the cassette over or turn the stereo off. He cursed the cassette for being so close to the end of the reel. Oliver leaned down to lightly kiss Schneider, with his hands on the other man’s chest, then slid off of him. Schneider rolled off the bed somewhat clumsily and padded over to the stereo. He fiddled with the stereo for a moment before turning on the television instead. “Do you mind if we watch a movie?”

                “That’s fine,” Oliver replied, letting his eyes drift downward, referring both to the movie and the sight of Schneider in his boxers. Schneider adjusted the television set and returned to the bed, crawling towards Oliver. Christoph laid his head against Oliver’s chest and Oliver wrapped an arm around him. Schneider hitched his leg over Oliver’s hips as the movie started.

                Oliver felt his eyes start to droop until he heard Schneider’s voice asking, “Already falling asleep?”

                Oliver murmured a negative response, trying to insist that he was still awake. His high hit him fast, his head already pleasantly buzzing. “No, I swear.”

                “You’re so high,” Schneider laughed.

                “No, I’m not, I swear.”

                “I bet you’ll be asleep in ten minutes.”

                “Not even,” Oliver mumbled sleepily. “I’m willing to put up a wager. I’ll bet you fall asleep first.”

                Schneider smiled at Oliver’s tired rambling, hand stroking his chest.

                His lids were so heavy…

                Oliver opened his eyes to find a gently snoring Schneider still sleeping.  Doom had his arm wrapped halfway around the pillow, face halfway tucked into it.   He poked at Schneider tentatively, testing to see whether he would wake up or not. He hardly stirred. “Schneider,” he called softly, waiting for the man to stir. No response. “Schneider,” Oliver repeated, propping himself up on his elbows. “Schneeeiiideerr,” he said, finally sitting up. He straddled Schneider cautiously, careful not to disturb him.

                He leaned down to Schneider’s ear, whispering his name as he pressed himself against the still sleeping man’s form. “Wake up,” he said as Doom twitched lightly. Oliver pressed a kiss to his cheekbone then trailed down to his mouth. “Schneider,” he murmured against Doom’s lips. There was hardly an inch of space between them and Oliver was starting to feel the effects of it. Schneider’s skin was warm and surprisingly soft, smelling of a smoky musk and aftershave, oddly enough. He ran a finger across Schneider’s lips, noting how handsome he really was.

                He heard Schneider snoring taper off as he started to come to. He kissed along Schneider’s collarbone and chest, hearing soft mumbling. “Hello there,” Oliver said, looking up at Schneider, seeing that he was finally awake.

                “Morning,” Schneider replied, a grin playing about his lips.

                “How are you feeling,” Oliver asked, pushing himself up to kiss him.

                “Tired,” he said with a grin, admiring Oliver’s features. “Still a bit high,” Doom added, uncoiling his arm from the pillow.

                “Oh yeah?” Oliver teased between kisses to Schneider’s torso. Over the past few weeks Schneider had come to appreciate how affectionate Oliver was.

                “I still won though,” he reminded Oliver.

                “That you did,” Oliver replied, kissing lower and running his hands across Schneider’s stomach.

                “A-and you owe me,” Schneider said, breath hitching in his throat as Oliver gripped his hips.

                “That I do,” he said with a smirk. “I can think of a couple of ways to make it up to you,” Oliver said, inching Schneider’s boxers down. “That is, if you’d like me to,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet Schneider’s. Doom felt chills as they made eye contact and he nodded.

                “Please,” he sighed.

                Oliver needed no further prompting, tugging the waistband down and kissing along Schneider’s thighs. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, excitement building as his instincts took over. His fingers ghosted over the tip of Schneider’s member, followed by the briefest touch of his tongue. Schneider’s hips bucked up as he groaned, eyes sliding shut in pleasure.

                “Please,” he repeated.

                He licked slowly along his shaft, teasing Schneider as he worked him with his hand. “Please what?” Oliver asked cheekily, wanting to drag it out for the other man.

                “I need it,” Schneider said rather breathlessly as Oliver’s tongue circled the sensitive tip.

                “You’re gonna have to tell me what you want,” he replied, using his other hand to fondle Schneider’s hardness.

                “I didn’t say- ah that I wanted…” he began, his voice trailing off into a moan as Oliver slowly took his entire length into his mouth. “I need … not want,” Christoph whined.

                Oliver would have never thought Schneider would be so vocal but his pleading was going straight to his groin. Schneider _needed_ release but Oliver was determined to make it last. He raked his fingers across Schneider’s stomach lightly, eliciting another low moan from the man underneath him. Oliver held Schneider’s hips down as he took him into his mouth again. Doom strained against Oliver’s grip before wrapping his hand around the back of Oliver’s head and pushing lightly.

                He accommodated Schneider, taking pleasure in the sounds falling from Christoph’s lips. Noticing the taste of pre-cum on his tongue, he resorted to kissing Schneider again, feeling the slick erection against his thigh. Schneider’s skin was hot and all-encompassing as he pulled Oliver in to deepen the kiss. He could hardly get enough, feeling the intensity behind Schneider’s kisses.

                Schneider rolled himself to Oliver’s side and then flipped so that he was covering Oliver. Then he spit in the palm of his hand, reaching between them for Oliver’s cock to return the favor. Oliver caught the hint quickly, working his fingers against Schneider. Doom was moaning in Oliver’s ear, an obvious sign that he was enjoying it. He slid in a finger in, then carefully added another as Christoph’s moans grew louder.

                “Are you ready,” Oliver asked once he had worked Schneider up enough. Schneider nodded fervently, rolling off of him to allow him to grab a condom. He watched Oliver tear it open with his teeth then slide it on, eyes half-lidded as he rolled it down. Oliver pulled Schneider on top of him, catching his lips in a kiss as he slid his cock in. He moaned into the kiss, torn between the feel of Schneider against him and the sensation of being inside him.

                Schneider felt a twinge of satisfaction at Oliver’s noise of pleasure and kissed at his neck, hoping to coax more from him. Oliver thrusted again, desperate to feel more of Christoph. A small yelp of surprise and pain escaped Schneider as he was caught off guard. “I’m sorry,” Oliver quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to-” he said but was cut off as his words dissolved into moans of passion.

                “You don’t have to apologize,” Schneider murmured against Oliver’s lips as he pushed back against Oliver. He rocked his hips so that the angle would be more comfortable, continuing to kiss along Oliver’s neck with the idea of leaving more bruises behind. He dug his fingers into Oliver’s biceps as Oliver began to increase the pace.

                Their lovemaking grew more frenzied as they adjusted to each other’s rhythm. Schneider buried his face into Oliver’s neck, nipping at the skin there.

                Oliver sighed in bliss, clearly content with what Doom was doing. The velvety roughness of his tongue blended with the sharp pricks of his teeth, driving Oliver mad. He wanted more of Schneider, more heated pleasure, more of their shared heady lust. His thoughts were swirling around in a haze of desire, punctuated by the sound of skin against skin. He wanted to go further; a carnal hunger overwhelming his senses. His mind presented him with the image of Schneider spread wantonly across the bed wearing _his_ collar. He could almost feel the rough ropes chafing against his skin with the visual of Schneider smirking down at him, it was enough for him to almost lose it. He wanted to feel Schneider’s hands gripping his neck instead of just teeth. Oliver wanted that added level of intimacy that could only be achieved through such intensity. He made a mental note to figure out if Doom was open to trying things of that nature. He was close to the edge now with Schneider’s loud cries bringing him back to the present.

Oliver wrapped his own fingers around Schneider’s neck, hyperaware of the stubble brushing against his knuckles as he thrust into the man beneath him again. Schneider’s breath was loud and ragged in his ears and his eyes were clear blue and desperate. He wanted release and Oliver could feel Schneider’s muscles tensing. Oliver gripped Schneider’s cock and stroked it in time to his thrusts, the other man was ready to nearly burst from the buildup of tension. Oliver tightened his hold, squeezing at the other man’s neck a little more. A soft groan pushed past Schneider’s lips, although quieter due to the lack of air. His face began to redden slightly and his hand pulled at Oliver’s fingers.

                He released Schneider completely, placing a hand on either side of his head before thrusting into him again roughly. He felt a smooth leather strip underneath his fingers and pulled it out from beneath Doom. Schneider dragged him down for another kiss, pressing their bodies flush against each other. Schneider moaned into Oliver’s mouth as he felt the combination of Oliver’s hot skin and hair brushing against his cock. Once they broke apart, Oliver looked at the leather he was clutching and realized it was a ball gag.

                Schneider looked between Oliver and the ball gag, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He sat upright immediately, slightly backing away. “What are you doing with that?”

                Oliver did not reply, reaching for Schneider’s mouth instead and pushing the black rubber sphere into place. He felt a strange urge to push it further back but held back as Schneider attempted to protest. He fastened the gag quickly despite Schneider’s efforts to push him away. He moved closer, trapping Schneider between the wall and himself.

                Doom looked panicked, unsure of where the gag even came from in his own apartment. He tried to push the ball out from between his teeth but only muffled speech was heard. His breathing grew quicker and louder as his expression was that of fear. Oliver pushed him back against the wall, holding him by his biceps and kissing along his neck. Whatever Schneider had tried to say was lost now replaced by near whimpering.

                “What’s the matter Christoph?” Oliver asked between kisses to his neck and jawline. “You don’t like this?” His voice took on a hard edge, tone dangerously low. He could see the panic in Schneider’s eyes but felt totally detached from what was happening.

                Schneider thrashed beneath him, trying to pull himself away from Oliver’s vice grip. Schneider tried to speak again but only unintelligible sounds came out. He shook his head viciously to loosen the strap around his head. It was unsuccessful, not budging at all. Saliva dripped down past the gag and Schneider’s eyes grew wide. The more he tried to speak, the more he drooled.  

                Oliver chuckled lowly, his eyes dark as he wiped a finger along Schneider’s chin. “You’re making such a mess,” he said, roughly pulling Schneider’s face closer.

                Schneider’s eyes conveyed conflicted emotions; those of fear, lust, and anger. He didn’t need the ability to speak to show the anxiety he felt. His jaw was tight as he made another sound of discomfort; one that sounded something like a mix between the words ‘halt’ and ‘hilf’.

                Strangely enough, an unsettling feeling swept over Oliver as Schneider freed one hand. Schneider tugged desperately at the gag, managing to loosen it slightly without totally removing it. A sense of horror crept through Oliver’s veins as he realized he could have been hurting Christoph. Something awful told him to pin Schneider’s hand down and tighten the gag more, as if it were even possible. He looked to Doom, then to his own hand as he realized he could not stop himself from pushing the gag back into place.

                Doom swatted Oliver’s hand away, pushing him back slightly. Schneider then bucked his hips up to throw Oliver off of him, staring at him in shock.

                Oliver lost his balance and rolled back, landing close enough to fall off the edge of the mattress.

                …

                Then, Oliver opened his eyes.

                Oliver jumped slightly, feeling a sense of dread as he looked around. His brain groggily tried to process what happened and he couldn’t help but feel unsure of his surroundings.

                Schneider’s arms were wound around Oliver’s waist possessively, grounding him to reality. Or what appeared to be reality. Just moments before had seemed like reality too. He tried to work out where he was first, taking in the warm blankets and lingering scent of marijuana. It was comforting yet disorienting as he realized he was still in Doom’s bed. He was still wearing his own boxers and there was no gag to be seen. The worn, soft cotton of Doom’s shirt against his back told him that Schneider was still dressed as well.

                Slowly, Oliver carefully rolled over to face Doom, trying his best not to wake him up. Schneider looked perfectly fine, no visible fingerprints around his neck. He felt nauseous as he recalled his fingers closing in on Schneider’s throat. What the hell had possessed him to be so rough and careless? He watched Doom with an increasing sense of worry. Surely, if he had hurt Schneider, he wouldn’t be curled up with him? He tentatively rested a hand on Schneider’s shoulder but it was too close to the other man’s neck for his own comfort. After what possibly happened, it was too soon and so he moved it to his hip, not fully trusting himself.

                A sliver of nearly transparent blue was visible beneath Schneider’s lids as he began to stir. Oliver held his breath as Schneider opened his eyes, unsure of what to expect. Doom smiled, still half asleep, before sidling closer to Oliver.  He hummed contentedly as he pressed a kiss to Oliver’s shoulder. “You all right,” Schneider asked.

                “I’m fine,” Oliver replied uncertainly.

                “You sure? You were flailing about for a minute there,” Schneider said, glancing up at Oliver with concern.

                “I was?”

                “Yeah, you were mumbling a bit but I couldn’t make it out,” Doom explained.

                Was it possible that what happened was only in his head? Had he dreamed it all up? He felt a wave of relief wash over him and let out the breath he had been holding. “I must have been having a pretty intense dream,” Oliver said.

                “Maybe you shouldn’t have smoked so much that you fell asleep,” Schneider teased.

                “I didn’t fall asleep?”

                “How high are you? You’ve been asleep for an hour or so,” Schneider informed him.

                “Haven’t you been asleep too,” Oliver asked.

                “I’ve been dozing for the most part. You woke me up with all the movement a few minutes ago,” he explained. “Then I fell asleep again. I’m too comfortable.”

                “So I’ve been asleep this whole time?” Oliver was convinced that it happened, it felt had felt so real.

                “Yeah, pretty much. I think you were out the moment I put the movie on,” Schneider guessed.

                He found himself at a loss for words after that, relieved that nothing bad happened. Oliver’s mind drifting to his previous thoughts, then an idea dawned on him.

                “Christoph?” he ventured tentatively. He was freaked out by the dream he had but curiosity niggled at his thoughts.

                “Hmm?” came Schneider’s reply.

                “Do you want to try something new tonight?”

                “Like what? Food?”

                Oliver chuckled, “Not exactly. Somewhere new like a club or something,” he asked nervously.

                “All right,” he agreed easily.

                And the matter was resolved simply. Oliver was unsure if he should give him all the details up front, it would have possibly ruined the mood. Instead, Oliver pressed a kiss to Schneider’s hair earning a contented hum from him. He wondered if his odd dream was some sort of precursor to the evening before putting out of his mind altogether. He was investing too much meaning into something so trivial and chalked it up to general nervousness.

\---

                Collar.

                Check.

                Eyeliner.

                Check.

                Pants.

                Shit, hang on.

                Pants.

                Check.

                Wallet.

                Check.

                Oliver was extremely apprehensive about meeting up with Schneider, pacing around his apartment nervously. He hadn’t exactly given him the full details on where they were going. Schneider seemed excited enough to be going on a date but he had no idea what was in store. He seemed bewildered when Oliver told him to wear something leather but was otherwise agreeable.

                When he called Richard about bringing Schneider to KitKat, the older man insisted on him bringing Schneider during his shift. Oliver let Richard talk him into making it a double date, wanting to have Till meet Doom as well. Perhaps he should have given Schneider more of a warning about what to expect but it was a bit late for that now.

                Oliver stood just outside the train station with Till, feeling extraordinarily nervous. “Did you tell him about the club,” Till asked as if he could read the other man’s mind.

                “No,” he replied honestly. “I just told him we were going to a club and that we would meet up with you and Richard. And that it would a new experience for the both of us.”

                Till raised his eyebrows at Oliver, a silent question hanging in the air between them. Oliver began to doubt himself, wondering if it was the right decision to leave Schneider in the dark. He fidgeted nervously with the hem of his coat, looking away from Till’s gaze. Till exhaled a thin stream of smoke, flicking the ash away. He remained silent as Oliver continued watching for Doom. Oliver kicked a pebble around mindlessly, trying to keep his nerves at bay. The dream he had from earlier gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. “He’s in for a real surprise then huh,” Till chuckled.

                Oliver’s face twisted into a grimace and he looked uneasy. Till took notice and hastily added, “I’m sure it’ll all be fine though. It comes as a bit of a shock for some at first, but I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

                “That’s what I’m nervous about. I don’t want him to be freaked out,” Oliver sighed.  

                Till opened his mouth to speak again but spotted someone approaching them. “Is that him?” Till questioned, pointing behind Oliver.

                Oliver cursed beneath his breath before turning on his heel. “Ch- Schneider!” Oliver caught himself just in time; he wasn’t sure how Schneider would take it if Till knew his real name before they were even properly introduced.

                Schneider took it all in stride, greeting Oliver with a kiss and a smile. His arm settled around Oliver’s waist as he turned back to Till.

                “Schneider, this is Till, Richard’s boyfriend,” Oliver gestured. “Till, this is Schneider.” He was unsure if he could really call him his boyfriend, they hadn’t really discussed it. They had been dating but neither of the two had put a label on it.

                Schneider stepped forward, grasping Till’s hand and shaking it. “Hallo, Oliver talks about you two all the time.”

                “Likewise. Good things I hope,” Till said, smiling warmly.

                “Of course,” Schneider chuckled in agreement. He smiled at Oliver reassuringly as they set off for the KitKat. Luckily, none of the sights Oliver had seen his first trip over were out roaming so Schneider had yet to see any of the bar’s patrons. Oddly enough, once they reached the club, only the bouncer and a few women were standing outside. Their outfits were tame enough, mainly short skirts and fishnet stockings paired with stilettos. Luckily for Schneider, this meant that he wouldn’t be turned away from the bar because of his outfit.

                Although this did mean that once Schneider was inside the club, he would be in for a bit of a shock. Till greeted the bouncer and they were waved through. Oliver gripped Schneider’s hand, squeezing it gently for reassurance as they stepped inside. As usual, the music was loud and thumping and the strobe lights lit up the club in various glowing colors. They followed Till to a table with Oliver watching Schneider’s face all the while. Schneider scanned the atmosphere at first, then took in all the wild outfits people were dressed in. His expression remained fairly impassive as he quietly sat down with them.

                “I’m going to get us drinks and tell Richard we’re here, all right?” And with that, Till disappeared into the crowd.

                “This is an interesting place,” Schneider quipped as he watched a couple walk by both clad in red leather lingerie.

                Oliver nodded. “It’s very different. Something a little off from the norm.” He was antsy about removing his coat as he was wearing what became his typical outfit; some sort of black pant, boots, and collar. He was sure Schneider hadn’t caught onto the fact that he was shirtless yet. From what he could tell of Schneider’s outfit, he was wearing leather pants but his long coat hid whatever shirt he was wearing. He began to doubt if this was really the best place to go on a spontaneous date to, especially since Schneider was basically clueless about what to expect.

                “Interesting,” was all Schneider said. He seemed to be more interested in looking around than anything else and so Oliver decided to go to the bathroom to let Schneider look in relative peace. As he was leaving, he came across Till at the bar and pulled him aside.

                “He’s at the table and he’s not saying much. Till, I’m not sure he likes it here much at all,” Oliver said, speaking frantically.

                “Give him some time to warm up to it,” Till said, trying to placate the younger man’s fears. “Just ease him into it.”

                “You’re right. I’ll be right back,” he told Till, then set off towards the bathrooms.

                Before he could make it all the way to the bathroom, someone shouted his name from behind him. He spun around to find himself face to face with Richard. The shorter man pulled him into a friendly hug before insisting that Oliver absolutely had to come with him. Oliver’s protests fell on deaf ears as he dragged him away from the bathrooms and off towards another area of the club he was unfamiliar with. He led Oliver down a hallway and to the backstage section. He finally stopped once they reached his dressing room, an open room that smelled of leather and expensive cologne.

                “That’s a nice scent,” Oliver said absentmindedly, looking around the room at the various harnesses, crops, and bondage gear laid out.

                “You like it? It’s something one of my clients bought for me,” he called over his shoulder as he checked his reflection over. He pulled on a nearby harness, one crafted from silver leather, o-rings, and grommets. It was much nicer than the ones Oliver had seen in the club and he felt a little envious as he watched Richard secure it.

                “What am I doing back here anyways?” Oliver asked nervously, fiddling with his coat.

                “I’m glad you asked! Take off your coat, get comfortable! You’ve brought Schneider with you right?” Richard’s words were rapid-fire, the excitement level in his voice rising.

                He shrugged his coat off, confused as to why Richard was so animated. “Yes, he’s with Till right now,” he said, his voice trailing off as he thought of Schneider’s possible discomfort. “I’m not sure how he feels about being here.”

                “He doesn’t seem very receptive? Well that’s easy to fix,” Richard exclaimed, searching through his things. He found what he was looking for which appeared to be a black leather belt about a half a foot wide. “Let’s go,” he said, bringing the belt with him and snagging a pair of goggles on the way out of the room.

                Oliver followed Richard out of the room but was startled when he found Richard was going the opposite way that they came in. He stopped short as Richard kept walking ahead. “Oh shit,” he swore, turning back to find Oliver a few feet behind. “Take these,” he said, turning back to hand Oliver the goggles. Oliver looked bewildered as he pulled them into place, making it much harder to see in the dimly lit hallway. He could hardly see where he was going and they were probably going to be a nightmare of a combination with the neon strobes.

                “I can hardly see in these,” Oliver said.

                “Good, makes it easier,” he said, setting off on a brisk pace for the stage.

                Oliver trailed slightly behind him, feeling quite a bit like an incompetent fish. “Where are you going?”

                They were nearly at the edge of the stage and Oliver heard the music shift into something much more slow-paced, creating a mood of ambiance and darkness. Richard finally turned back to him with a wicked grin in place and asked, “Don’t you mean where are _we_ going?”

                Before Oliver could even react, much less sprint away, Richard grabbed him by the belt of his pants and yanked him onstage with him. Oliver felt his heart drop into his stomach as he realized what Richard had in mind. He felt a sense of dread and he heard cheers from the crowd, but he could hardly see them due to the spotlight shining down on them. The goggles Richard gave him were useful, creating a makeshift barrier between him and the audience. He wanted to run off the stage, consequences be damned but he had already been spotted.

                Meanwhile, on the other side of the club, Schneider was stunned by the sight unfolding before him. He stopped in the middle of his sentence, regarding what he was saying to Till nowhere near as important. He fell silent as Richard buckled a leather band around Oliver’s chest. It seemed that Oliver wasn’t trying to resist, more so, he looked conflicted. He felt a flare of anger as the crowd cheered, feeding into the show.

                Richard had on silver pants, a silver harness, and even his hair was silvery, which to Doom, was overkill. However Schneider had a hard time focusing on that when his boyfriend was currently being tied down by him. He wanted to know what was going on immediately and looked to Till for answers. However, Till looked just as confused as he felt. Were they all in on this? Schneider watched as Richard prowled across the stage, doting on certain people here and there.

                What he wasn’t prepared for, was the whip he produced from the table he tied Oliver to. _What the fuck is going on_ , Doom thought to himself. If someone had asked him at the beginning of the night what he expected on this date, he would have never thought the answer would have been a fetish club. Oliver kept his gaze on the ceiling, chin pointed upwards as Richard began _swinging_ the whip at him. He felt a twinge of jealousy but it was quickly replaced by disgust. He didn’t know what to make of what was happening and it made him extremely upset. He watched the ‘show’, totally removed from what he was witnessing. It made it easier on him to disconnect. He tried not to pay attention to when Oliver let out a soft moan, much like the one he had made earlier. It would have been nearly impossible for the back of the club to hear it but from where he was sitting, he was sure others could hear it too. He felt a tightness in his chest at that, not wanting anyone else to hear the sounds Oliver made. He heard the snap of the whip and thud of Richard’s boots as he made his way into the crowd for his usual part of the routine.

                Richard only taunted a few people, instead choosing to return to the stage. He undid the binds on Oliver first, letting him exit the stage to some scattered applause. Richard took the opportunity to work the crowd.

                Oliver vanished into the backstage area and made his way back to Richard’s dressing room. He felt jittery and full of nerves, still amped up from the performance he was just a part of. Adrenaline and disbelief gave him the oddest sense of ecstasy; he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest, both literally and figuratively. He unbuckled the leather and placed it back among Richard’s belongings, then left the dressing room. He leaned against the wall of the hallway for a minute to collect his thoughts. He no longer had to awkwardly try to start a discussion about his interests in a relationship, both sexually and romantically. This situation was possibly an opportune way to ease into that topic without being too forward about it. He felt marginally better as he made his way back across the club to Schneider and Till. As he neared the bar, he started to feel a bit anxious about how Schneider could have perceived the act. Realizing that he had no real evidence to predict either outcome, he tried his best to remain neutral once he reached the table. He greeted the two, trying his best to read the mood. Till seemed fine, standing up and greeting him as per usual.

                Schneider however, was a different matter entirely.

                His face was expressionless, totally unreadable as he looked directly into Oliver’s eyes.

                Till looked between the two of them, wondering if Schneider was upset. His question was answered promptly within two seconds.

                “What the fuck does he think he’s playing at,” Schneider snarled, barely containing his anger. His fists were balled tightly, shoulders tense and his stance confrontational. Oliver was taken aback at the sudden change in Doom’s attitude; he had never seen him upset about anything before.

                “What are you talking about?” Oliver asked, eyes darting between him and Till.

                “Is this some sort of joke to you? Do you think this was a fun prank to play on me,” he questioned, his tone harsh. “I’m not sure what reaction you expected but this has gone too far.”

                Till spoke up then, asking, “Are you all right?”

                Schneider’s reply was scathing, “I was talking to Oliver, stay out of this.”

                “I don’t know how much you’ve had to drink but once you start running your mouth like that to my friend, I’m going to make it my business, whether you like or not,” Till replied, his voice tight.

                “Christoph-,” Oliver began, reaching towards Schneider tentatively.

                “Don’t you even-“

                Richard returned at precisely the wrong moment, wide grin plastered on his face as he was unaware of the situation at hand. He barely got out the word ‘hello’ before Schneider lunged at him, knocking past Oliver. Till caught Schneider’s arm before he could get far enough, then Oliver regained his balance and move to restrain him.

                “ _And you,_ ” Schneider spat venomously, pointing a shaking finger at Richard. “You must find this all hysterical.

                Richard’s grin faltered in confusion as Doom tried to knock Oliver out of his way.

                Schneider could only see red, fury clouding his vision. This was either a very elaborate joke (which he did not find humorous) or a proposal that the four of them participate in something as debasing as the spectacle Oliver had just been a part of. It was bizarre and utterly sinful, and while a very small part of him almost enjoyed what he saw, he was outraged that Richard was also a participant. He couldn’t believe that Oliver just went along with it, anger building up as he tried to lunge for Richard again.

                Till’s voice was low and threatening, warning Schneider that, “No one lays a finger on Richard.” Till placed himself in front of his boyfriend, prepared to stand as a barrier between them. Richard snaked an arm around his waist protectively, peering around him to observe the argument unfolding in front of them.

                Oliver dragged him off towards a private room despite his struggling, only letting him go once the door was locked. “All right, what the fuck is going on,” Oliver asked, clearly shaken by Schneider’s demeanor.

                “I could ask you the same damn question. Is this a shitty joke?” The accusations flew out of Schneider’s mouth faster than he could think of them. “Are you seeing Richard as well? Why would you bring me to this fucking dump?”

                “You know well enough that Richard is my friend,” Oliver replied, his voice starting to rise. “You’ve just met his boyfriend and you’ve got to be mental to go and try to attack Richard in front of him. You’re lucky Till didn’t flatten you then.”

                Schneider let out a derisive snort as if he was amused by the idea.

                “I thought you were going to try to be open-minded about this, but you’re being a prick,” Oliver groaned in frustration.

                “I’m a prick? Me? Listen, there’s a difference between open-mindedness and a flat out fetish fantasy,” Doom said. “Or do you not see Richard whipping you onstage as an issue?” Oliver opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Schneider. “Clearly we must not be that serious then,” he continued.

                The added remark stung even worse than anything else he had said that evening. “Christoph, bitte,” Oliver said, agony creeping into his tone and making it hard for him to breathe.

                “I mean it,” Schneider growled, his words cutting deeper than Oliver would have liked to admit. “If you wanted something like this,” he paused, waving his arms to gesture at their surroundings. “You should have been up front with me. Just springing this on me …no I can’t deal with this.”

                A pang of grief lodged itself into Oliver’s chest, weighing him down. This was not how he expected the night to go at all. He felt a crushing sense of numbness creep down his spine, and a vague sense of disassociation set in. His inner thoughts told him to argue and prove Schneider wrong but he took no action instead letting Doom tear into him.

                Schneider’s question broke into his thoughts, “Am I supposed to think this is normal?” He waved a hand angrily at the bed in the center of the room. “I don’t know what to make of any of this aside from fucking bizarre. Did you plan this all out?”

                Oliver was speechless, mouth opening and closing but no words came out.

                “And Richard? I can see he was in on it but why would you do this? Some sort of freaky shit is going on here and I don’t want to be part of it,” Schneider said, his voice rising again. Oliver took a step towards him but Schneider moved away even further, making it a point to avoid the bed. “I can’t believe this is how you get off,” he yelled, looking around for something to throw or break. He wasn’t about to let Oliver come near him in this room.

                Oliver was still silent, trying to think of something, anything, to say. He had no idea Richard was going to go _that_ far but he also hadn’t expected this sort of reaction from Schneider. To say the other man was upset was an understatement. “I didn’t plan any of this out,” he managed to say.

                “Right, I’m supposed to believe that?”

                “Bitte,” Oliver said, his voice low. He felt a sense of sinking shame, unsure of what to respond with. “Christoph, bitte.”

                “Nein,” Schneider said, with acid in his voice, low and threatening like he had spat the word through his teeth. He fought with himself for a moment, trying to think of why Oliver would want to do something like this. Had he been taking their relationship too seriously? Doom wanted to keep the relationship relatively serious, wanting to make it worth it for the both of them. Schneider had been reserved for the most part, starting to open up to Oliver little by little but this felt as if it was almost meaningless in a sense.  Taking his time to get to know Oliver was something he made very important.

                But being in that club at that moment made him second-guess himself. Perhaps someone like Oliver was too much for him. Maybe it was that Oliver was more into casual relationships and Schneider had expected too much of him.

                “I just don’t know how serious this is,” Schneider said.

                Oliver’s eyes were downcast, ice flooding his veins as he accepted that Schneider was referring to their relationship. He said nothing, which seemed to visibly upset Schneider even more.

                “I’m leaving,” Schneider sighed, turning on his heel and leaving the club.

                “Wait,” Oliver said but the other man didn’t listen and the door slammed shut, leaving him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer than my usual, apologies for the wait (if you were).


	13. Eifersucht

                This time, Oliver has another dream. Pointedly so, in fact.

                Paul and Flake are vaguely defined in this dream; mere wisps of them float through.

                The entire room was white; again, vaguely defined, and there were dogs. Large, wiry Dobermans barking and snarling but no sound was audible. One of them reared up and lunged at him. He can recall with the sharpest detail, what the spittle on their jowls and teeth looked like. It was a largely unsettling feeling,

                Schneider stood in the center of the room; strangely lit and broody looking. He watched as Oliver approached, then looked down sadly, and froze. His image flickered briefly, as if he were a hologram, then reappeared again with a completely different expression, one of exasperation and annoyance. He shifted from one foot to the other impatiently as Oliver drew closer.

                At another point Richard appeared, wearing the same outfit of silver pants, silver suspenders and silver hair. Before Oliver could move a muscle, Richard turned his head and stared directly at him. He said nothing, and the look on his face told Oliver nothing as well. Till was behind him, gazing at him with the same unyielding stare that Schneider had received after his spat with Richard. He was visibly upset with Oliver although the reason why was unclear.

                Back to Schneider for a moment. While Richard wore the same outfit from _that_ night at the club, Schneider was not. He was shirtless too and appeared as if he had just exercised from the looks of the light perspiration around his face and neck. Oliver felt no collar around his neck either, which meant his outfit had been changed as well.

                Schneider’s earring moved slightly as his gaze snapped up to meet Oliver’s, eyebrows raised expectantly.  

                Oliver felt himself flickering for a moment, a disturbing wave of fear washing over him.

                A single mirror stood against the wall and Oliver moved closer to examine himself. He felt a mounting sense of fear, afraid of what this dream would show him.

                He saw himself, plain as ever. His piercings were gone however, only slight scars on his nose and ears from where the rings were. He felt a slight sense of panic once he realized they were missing, he knew that he looked different without them. It was odd for one to adjust to seeing their piercings, but Oliver had long since done so. Now he felt naked in a sense. He looked back to Schneider, who still appeared exasperated and now impatient. He looked back at himself, reaching a hand to where his nose ring once was.

                It hit him them, and the realization was heavy as several tons of steel. His piercings really _were_ missing, not by choice. It slowly started to sink in; the fact that Oliver’s piercings were a part of his appearance, something given to him by Schneider. In a way, he felt _wanted_ ; Schneider left him two sorts of physical affection. Love bites; the first and more temporary of the two, had been a somewhat common occurrence. Something Schneider had been almost proud of once he had seen it. He wondered if that sentiment extended towards his piercings. After all, Schneider did pierce him. Schneider’s piercings were only temporary if Oliver chose them to be. For all intents and purposes, the piercings were meant to be permanent. A level of trust between piercer and client. Between Schneider and himself.

                He is only temporary if he chooses to be.

                Schneider stood with his arms crossed, appearing to be on the verge of speaking, but it never came. Richard spoke instead but nothing could be heard. He noticed Richard laughing and made eye contact with him but once that happened, Richard stopped and his face dropped. He could not tell what either man was thinking. He exchanged a look with Schneider before turning away and walking off with Till.

                They were alone.

                Schneider was angry at _him_. Oliver felt the need to cover his face, he didn’t want Doom to look at him.

                Then Schneider finally spoke.

                “Why would you remove them?”

                Oliver tried to speak but no words would come out. He began frantically shaking his head as Schneider moved closer.

                “Why would you remove them,” he repeated, voice growing lower.

                Oliver took a step back, only to find the wall behind him, stopping him.

                “Don’t they mean anything to you?” Schneider asked, his voice distorting into a growl. “Don’t I?” For a moment, he could have sworn that he saw tears in Schneider’s eyes. He flickered again, briefly, then returned with bright red pupils. “Don’t I?”

                Oliver was frozen in terror at what appeared to be happening. Schneider lunged at him-

                -and he awoke with a yell. He threw his blankets off himself, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His heart was pounding in his chest as he moved to sit up. He really needed to stop smoking before he fell asleep. His dreams were becoming increasingly weirder and were still focused around Schneider, which was not something he needed. He wanted to forget about it, not relive it.

                He picked up the phone and dialed Richard’s number instead. “Richard, it’s Oliver.”

                “Olli! Come down to Prinzenbar tonight, we’re having a bondage party! It’ll be a great time,” Richard’s voice chirped over the line.

                He needed no further convincing. He needed to blow off some steam and clear his mind.

                Four drinks in found Oliver at Prinzenbar, a little too tipsy and dancing. Another man was pressed against his body, grinding against his crotch. The alcohol had heightened Oliver’s senses; making the roaming hands on his body feel so much warmer and softer. The hands made their way up to his head, fisting in his short hair. Oliver sighed softly. It felt so good to be drunk and careless for once at the bar, even though a nagging voice in his head kept reminding him not to overdo it.

                _Fuck moderation_ , he told the voice.

                The voice (that sounded remarkably like Till’s) fell silent then, clearly offended that it was being told off. His hands went lower, grazing over the other man’s leather pants. The man sighed softly, a breathless sort of moan right in his ear. He wanted to release some of his pent-up frustrations that had been building ever since his fallout with Schneider. Ever since that night, he had felt a looming cloud of anxiety and self-doubt. Here, he could forget about all his issues and drink and dance to his heart’s desire. He knocked back the rest of his drink and left the glass in a nearby nook. He continued to dance until he felt lips on his neck and collarbone and froze.

                His first instinct was to stop the other man right then and there but he was too inebriated to really care. The insistent tugging at the harness across his chest brought him back to the present. “C’mon,” the other man urged, pulling him towards the back of the club to the exit. “I could use a cigarette,” he said loudly, making sure he could be heard over the music.

                Richard’s gaze followed Oliver as he made his way out the club and he smirked. He knew Oliver could use some attention right about now. It would do him good to forget about Schneider and talk to someone new. He wasn’t about to interfere with progress.

                Once they were outside, the other man took advantage of Oliver’s drunkenness and yanked him closer. He pressed him against a wall, kissing him feverishly and sloppily. Oliver was only half-aware of what he was doing as he kissed the man back, trying to focus on standing up straight. He held onto the wall and the man for balance, breaking the kiss to stumble forward a little bit.

                “Honey, you’re a mess,” the man said to him.

                “You’re right,” Oliver agreed, laughing loudly and wobbling slightly. Oliver’s harness was partly unbuckled (although for it to fall off would have required at least four more to be undone as well.) He was clearly flushed with roaming bloodshot eyes. He was also covered in a light sheen of sweat that one could only achieve from vigorous amounts of dancing and alcohol. He was starting to sweat out some of what he drank, the scent of vodka hanging over him. “Oh,” Oliver said a little wistfully. “You are right,” he hiccupped before starting back towards the club.

                The other man looked after him with confusion, but figured he was better off letting Oliver go. Oliver trudged back inside, noticing the sweltering heat nearly overwhelming him. It was hard to breathe and it felt sticky compared to the cool air he felt just a few moments ago. If he was thinking straight, he would have gone back outside and cooled off.

                He wasn’t.

                Instead, he was on a mission to find Richard because … he … why was he going to find Richard? He wished he could remember why he came back inside but it was too late to head back towards the exit. The pumping bass of the song was not helping him concentrate, neither were the bodies pressed against him moving to the rhythm of the song. He was beginning to feel nauseous instead and was beginning to regret drinking so much. He needed to find a bathroom immediately. No, wait, it was Richard he was looking for. Was Richard in the bathroom?

                He eventually got through the crowd, luckily without incident and all but fell into the bathroom door. _Fuck_. Oliver made his way to the nearest open stall and crouched down to ward off the spinning feeling that was creeping into his head. This was the _worst_ he had felt in a long time. He had trouble remembering why he was so drunk.

                He heard vomiting in the stall next to him and suddenly remember that he was practically on the floor. He chuckled at how he imagined he must have looked, folded between the toilet and wall. Then he realized he was on the bathroom floor which was probably utterly filthy and pushed himself up fairly quickly. The best decision he would make that evening was to use the toilet and switch to water to get the alcohol out of his system. That is, it _was_ the best decision if he had stuck to it.

                He didn’t.

                Upon splashing some water on his face and leaving the bathroom, he made his way to the bar and ordered straight whiskey. Once he downed the whiskey (figuring five minutes was slow enough,) he tried to find Richard. He was successful as he literally stumbled into Richard who looked happily surprised to see him. “Richard!” he cheered.

                “Olli! So did you get lucky?”

                “When?”

                “Don’t be coy, I saw you sneak out back,” Richard said, grinning at the taller man.

                “Oh no, I wasn’t interested,” Oliver explained, doing his best not to slur his words.

                Richard seemed to be unaffected by his sudden speech impediment instead saying, “I hope you’re not still hung up on him.”

                “Who?”

                Richard raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Schneider.”

                “Of course not! I’m here, aren’t I?” Oliver asked cheerfully. “Listen I’ll prove it,” he said, steadying himself.

                Richard watched him with an amused expression.

                “Seriously,” Oliver insisted before placing his hands on Richard’s shoulders. He leaned down and kissed him right on the mouth with as much grace as a drunk could manage (which was not much in Oliver’s case). “See?”

                Richard’s immediate reaction was laughter, then he gently removed Oliver’s hands. “You’re fucking wasted,” he told Oliver.

                “Everyone keeps telling me that,” Oliver replied, a bit absentmindedly. “It’s all right though,” he said, before pressing another kiss to Richard’s lips. He felt something for a brief moment but then …he couldn’t remember anything.

                He felt incredibly dizzy and then, the world around him went black.

                When he finally came to, it appeared to be late morning. The room was much too bright for him to open his eyes but he felt a curiously heavy weight on his arms. He cracked an eye open to find that it was in fact, some _one_. Through the fog of his impending hangover he managed the word, “Schneider?” It felt like it could have been Schneider. Or …not. This person seemed to be a bit broader. He tried to stealthily shift his hands around so that he could check this person out. He wished their back wasn’t to him so he could just look. This man was about five inches shorter than Schneider …had different colored hair …and smelled of leather and cologne. He inhaled, catching the familiar scent again. Why did this person seem so familiar?

                He ran through a mental checklist of people it could be but came up blank, resulting in the beginnings of a nasty headache. “Good morning Oliver,” a voice called from behind him.

                That voice he _knew_.

                He rolled over to find Till standing in the doorway with a highly amused expression, eyebrows raised and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

                **_Fuck_**.

                He squinted across the room, trying to determine where the hell he was. “Good morning,” he replied, rolling over to bury his face in the pillows beneath him. Once he did, he caught a glimpse of silvery blond hair. Richard. His heart started to race as he realized he must have been in Richard’s bed, with his arms around _Richard_ , while Till looked on. He immediately yanked his arms from underneath Richard; flipping over and sitting up, wildly looking around the room.

                Till was only smirking, holding back his laughter at Oliver’s frantic movements. “You all right?”

                “…How did I get here,” Oliver asked, figuring that would be the safest question to ask. 

                “You don’t remember?”

                Shit.

                “Not really, I remember being at Prinzenbar with Richard,” Oliver began. Then the memories of last night’s kisses rushed back to him. Did Till know? Was he going to kick his ass? He suddenly regretted not waking up sooner and sneaking out before anyone was awake.

                “Not a thing,” Till asked, clearly still very amused.

                “What happened,” he asked, finally voicing the question he had been avoiding.

                Till looked pointedly at Richard and said, “Take a guess.”

                Oliver’s eyes widened in horror and he started to scramble out of the bed. “Till, oh shit, I’m so sorry, Till, I didn’t mean for anything to happen between us, I honestly can’t even remember the club.” He searched around for pants, feeling extremely vulnerable in his boxers. Richard began to stir finally, yawning as he awoke.

                “What’s going on,” Richard asked groggily as he shifted to sit up.

                Oliver stopped in his tracks, realized he wasn’t going anywhere, and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

                “Ah, you’re awake,” Richard said. “Good, that means we can have breakfast.”

                “Wait what?” Oliver was clearly confused, wondering why everyone was acting as if everything were normal. “What happened? Someone please tell me, I can’t remember anything.”

                Richard chuckled then casually said, “We had sex, of course. It was great.”

                “…”

                Oliver nearly fainted on the spot, feeling the darkness at the edge of his conscious threatening to overtake him for the second time in twelve hours.

                “I’m kidding!” Till and Richard both started laughing then, and Richard decided to actually explain before Oliver died of shock. “You made out with someone at Prinzenbar no big deal. We all get a little carried away sometimes.”

                “I vaguely remember that,” Oliver said, trying to recall what the man looked like. He came up blank.

                “And then you kissed me as well,” Richard continued. “And Till. And you were flirting pretty heavily with the bartender as well. She gave you her number,” he said.

                “What? Stop messing with me,” Oliver said, getting up again to find his pants.

                “He’s not,” Till cut in with a snort. “You kissed us both. Richard said you kissed him at the bar and on the train home, then once you got here you told me,” he paused and did his best impression of a drunken Oliver. “You said, ‘you’ve got … the nicest, nicest mouth I’ve ever seen, m’sorry Reesh’ and then you just went for it.”

                The color drained out of Oliver’s face once Till added, “Thank you, by the way. You wouldn’t stop dancing around the apartment and then you dragged Richard off to bed.”

                “I what?”

                “You’re a very good kisser,” Richard added, laughing again.

                “Wait …did we-“ Oliver began.

                “No, I wouldn’t let you go that far! I’m dating Till,” Richard exclaimed, much to his surprise. “You did ask me to whip you again though.”

                Oliver wanted the mattress to devour him at that point, he was well beyond embarrassment as he sank to the floor. “Oh no,” he moaned. “I’m sorry, holy shit. I think I only had about four drinks. I must have looked out of my mind,” he said.

                “Four?” Richard snorted. “Try about nine drinks Olli.”

                “Nine?”

                “Ja.”

                “Oh fuck me,” Oliver sighed.

                “You already asked me to do that, Till is right there you know,” Richard teased.

                “Fuck, no, not like that, oh shit,” he started to stammer but the other two were unfazed.

                Richard stretched and got out of bed then, walking towards Till and kissing him. “C’mon let’s have some breakfast,” he called over his shoulder.

                Oliver lay on the ground for a few more minutes, trying to recall anything from last night. He closed his eyes tightly, willing something to come to him so that he would feel a little better. He did remember going out into the alley for a few minutes, someone with leather pants moaning quite loudly. They sounded a lot like Sch- _no._  He remembered leaving the alley and somehow stumbling across Richard but blanked. He pushed himself to recall what happened next. Richard … he found Richard … he grabbed Richard … he _did_ kiss Richard. He groaned aloud as he remembered telling Richard something to the effect of ‘help me forget him’. He cringed internally, pushing ahead to try to remember the rest of the night. He remembered leaving the club with Richard …and asking to be punished. Richard’s grin swam in his mind and a promise of ‘later Olli, later.’ They rode the train to Richard’s apartment as well and he insisted on going home with Richard.

> _His hands were roaming all over Richard’s body the minute they got into the apartment building. Richard had started to cave in on the ride over, letting Oliver whisper and laugh against his neck. Oliver really was quite adorable and a real sight when he was spectacularly drunk. Once they crossed the threshold to his apartment, he began to kiss Richard again._
> 
> _This time Richard didn’t pull away, instead letting Oliver pull him in. Once they broke the kiss, Richard spoke. “So you really aren’t seeing him anymore then?” He had enough tact to know that the other man did not want to hear Schneider’s name. After all, he had been in situations like this enough times with clients._
> 
> _Whenever a client was feeling particularly emotional, he knew just the right words to say. Never mention the person in question by name, it would only serve to bring them out of the right frame of mind. The client often doubted themselves, questioning whether or not they did things the **right** way. Not that mattered much to Richard, it was none of his business. It was his job to satisfy the client, to make sure they got what they needed from him; whether it be control, arousal, domination or anything else. They always wanted to forget, always craved whatever it was Richard could give them and it was why they sought him out time and time again. _
> 
> _Although this was different, Oliver was a friend, not a client. Albeit he did share some traits of his usual clientele, it was a delicate situation. Oliver was acting a bit recklessly, clearly wanted to escape whatever he was feeling. When Oliver looked him in the eyes, it was eerily blank. He simply wasn’t feeling. He did not care about what happened with Schneider, he just wanted to feel pleasure. “No, I’m not,” Oliver replied. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here, would we?” Then Oliver heard a thud from another room and he realized that he was in Richard’s apartment. That noise could have very well been Till. He froze. “Is that…?”_
> 
> _"Yes,” Richard answered with hardly a second thought, reading Oliver’s face._
> 
> _Oliver stood stock still, wishing he could sober up instantly. “Richard… I’m smashed right now. I…”_
> 
> _“That’s all right. Till won’t mind,” Richard said. “You probably won’t even remember this anyways.”_
> 
> _“He’ll be …okay with this,” Oliver asked quizzically._
> 
> _“Of course. This is just you and I having a little fun,” Richard assured him. He kissed him softly, not wanting to scare the other man off. “We can do whatever you like or we can stop here.”_
> 
> _He wished he could say he felt conflicted, but really he hardly felt anything but lust and a desire for affection. Richard could give him that. Till had no issue with it. He wasn’t seeing anyone (not anymore, he remembered with a pang of wistfulness.) He kissed Richard with more intensity, desperation emanating from him. He could taste the faintest hint of cigarette on Schnei--no Richard’s lips. He ran his hands along Richard’s arms, they seemed larger than usual. A voice in the back of his head spoke up, ‘That’s because you’re used to Sch—‘ **Shut. Up.** Doom ran a hand through his hair and he shivered. He broke the kiss with a gasp, everything was starting to sink in. Everything that had happened was his fault._
> 
> _He staggered away from Richard and tripped over their coffee table. What happened next was unclear, but he remembered someone standing over him, softly calling his name. He opened his eyes to find a pair of soft blue eyes gazing at him with concern. He was back. Before taking the time to think anything through, he reacted; pressing a kiss to the man standing over him._
> 
> _The person started sniggering halfway through the kiss and gently pried Oliver off. “Olli? You feeling all right?” The person came into focus and it was …Till. **For fuck’s sake.**_
> 
> _“Oh shit … I thought you …you’ve got a very nice mouth,” Oliver blurted out. **Smooth recovery Riedel.** “I’m sorry Reesh,” he slurred._
> 
> _“No hard feelings,” Richard said, coming into view. They helped him off the floor and managed to guide him to Richard’s room without further incident. Till left for a minute, returning with a glass of water and aspirin for Oliver._
> 
> _“Are you feeling better,” Till asked, watching him carefully for any signs of sudden nausea._
> 
> _“Mm,” he replied, touching a hand to the side of Till’s face affectionately. “Thank you.” And with that, he rolled over and fell asleep._

                …all _that_ happened. He really did not want to get up and face the other two now, especially not after what occurred. Although, neither of them appeared to be visibly upset; quite the opposite actually. More of a shared amusement and concern for their friend. The scent of fried bacon wafted through the air and he decided he would not put it off any longer. He pushed himself off the floor and entered the kitchen, visibly downtrodden as he sunk into the nearest armchair.

                “Schneider’s a bit of a moron, isn’t he?”

                Oliver’s gaze snapped up to meet Richard’s curious stare. “What do you mean by that?

                “Well he let you go for one,” Richard replied, patting the top of his head in a gesture of affection and reassurance.

                “If anything, I’m the idiot here,” he sighed, burying his face in his hands at the sight of his two friends. “I’m sorry, I really went overboard last night, I-“

                Richard cut him off, waving his hands. “No reason to be, we all make out with our friends occasionally. Not always drunk either,” he said, exchanging a knowing glance with Till who nearly choked on his coffee. “Anyways, it’s water under the bridge now. Think of it as … a favor,” he said simply. “Or just as what it was, you were considerably drunk and did some questionable things. We’ve all been there, no harm, no foul. It’s not like you cheated on anyone.”

                “I’ve made out with both of you! That’s …cheating? Sort of,” Oliver said, not quite convinced himself. “Isn’t it?”

                Till laughed this time, finally adding his input. “Doesn’t count, you were too drunk to even know who we were.”

                “But …” Oliver trailed off, thinking of what Richard had said. _‘We can do whatever you like.’_ Unless that was just him feeding into Oliver’s drunkenness. “…what you said Richard.”

                “Ah. Well, I suppose the offer still stands if you’d like. Would you rather go to KitKat or Prinzenbar,” Richard asked, words flowing easily as if offering to dominate a friend was a common occurrence for him.

                “Shit, I was just really drunk, I mean, no offense to you but …I’d um, I’ll pass,” he said.

                “If you’d like someone else, just say the word,” Richard said.

                Oliver didn’t know how to respond to that, looking between Richard and Till with a lost expression. “I’m not sure that I’ll be going back anytime soon,” he said sadly.

                “Why not?” Richard asked.

                Oliver remained silent.

                “Oh Olli, does this have to do with …?” Richard changed his mind, deciding that bringing up Schneider wasn’t the best route to take. “You had a great time! Just try not to overdo it next time,” he said with a laugh. “Why, look at that guy you were dancing with at Prinzenbar the other night! You could easily find someone in the scene, you don’t need-“

                Before Richard could say something insensitive, Till cut him off. “Perhaps you should take it easy for now.”

                “Just do whatever feels right,” Richard said. “Why did he get so upset in the first place?”

                Oliver sighed as the conversation finally looped back around to Schneider. “I don’t know. I guess he wasn’t ready for it.”

                “What do you meant he wasn’t ready?”

                “I mean, it was sort of a surprise and he di-“

                “Hold on, it was a surprise? As in, you didn’t tell him about the club before you brought him,” Richard asked, a look of mild shock on his face. “Well that’s where you fucked up,” he said. “I mean I felt bad for telling you to bring him but I thought you gave him _some_ sort of warning.”

                “You’re right but I just didn’t know how to tell him that. We weren’t exactly…” Oliver trailed off, finding himself at a loss for words.

\---

                He had been miserable around the shop, borderline unbearable when he wasn’t dealing with customers. His usually sunny demeanor was replaced by general gloominess, finally living up to his nickname of Doom. He hated that he was so affected by what happened, he just wanted to move past it. He was upset by the current turn of events but figured he was doing a decent job of hiding it.

                Except that he wasn’t and Paul noticed it when Schneider snapped at them both for discussing Dmitri in the shop. However, the moment he snapped, he felt awful about it but couldn’t bring himself to apologize.

                “What happened to you,” Paul finally snapped back, annoyed with Doom’s generally sour moods.

                “Nothing,” he sighed, hardly being convincing.

                “Spit it out, you’ve been foul the past week. Flake suggested we talk to you about maybe taking a break from here a while. Unless, you want to tell us why you’ve been so pissy,” Paul asked, hint of annoyance in his voice. “Flake agrees that you’ve been a bit of a dick.”

                “I haven’t been pissy,” was Schneider’s automatic reply.

                Paul threw him a skeptical look. “Flake and I will be out front,” he said, before leaving to have a cigarette.

                Schneider sighed, knowing he was going to have to explain himself at some point. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and headed outside after a few moments. Once he got outside, he made a point of lighting his cigarette slowly, letting it burn down halfway before inhaling. “So,” he began. “Last week, I may have …fought with Oliver. We aren’t …it’s over.”

                “That’s unfortunate,” Flake said, blowing a cloud of smoke away from them. “Doesn’t mean you have to let it affect your work though.”

                “What happened,” Paul questioned. “Normally you aren’t this mopey about things.” He was curious to know why Doom seemed to be holding a grudge.

                “We went out and then we ended up in a fetish bar, but that wasn’t even the strangest part. I mean I could have almost dealt with that but then you know happens?” Schneider asked, starting to gesticulate wildly.

                Flake shook his head and Paul looked on excitedly, waiting for details. “A fetish bar? Which one?”

                Schneider threw him a cold stare while Flake fixed him with a tired look. “What? I’m trying to imagine the atmosphere,” Paul offered. Flake cuffed the back of his head before looking back to Doom.

                “He comes out onstage with his friend, the one who came here for some jewelry. Then, get this, his friend ties him up and starts whipping him,” Schneider finished dramatically, then dropped his head into his hands.

                Much to Schneider’s horror, Paul burst out laughing and Flake choked back a snicker. “That’s wild,” Flake said, recovering smoothly.  

                Paul was nearly breathless, doubled over with laughter. He remained like that for at least thirty seconds and when he finally resurfaced he had watery eyes. Schneider was dumbfounded, nothing he had said was that funny. However, that did not stop Paul from wiping at the tears that had accumulated. “That’s fucking hilarious,” Paul finally managed once he caught his breath. “He’s a keeper.” Flake and Schneider looked bewildered at his statement.

                “What?”

                “No? I thought so,” Paul said casually.

                “What about that story even remotely qualifies him to be a ‘keeper’?”

                “It shows he’s got a great sense of humor, of course. And that he’s not skittish when it comes to strange things.”

                “Humor,” Schneider repeated dryly. “It shows that he’s into some-“

                “Kinky shit?” Paul questioned, cutting Schneider off. “He very well could be but that’s not the point here. I mean if you want my honest opinion, he does look the type.”

                Schneider’s anger temporarily subsided, to be replaced with curiosity as Paul rambled on and he couldn’t help but ask, “What type?”

                Paul stopped snickering and looked at Schneider soberly. “Do you really want to know?”

                “God, Paul, quit being an idiot,” Flake interjected.

                He started laughing again before lazily waving a hand and saying, “Oh you know. I mean it sounds perfectly normal to me. People go to those sorts of bars for fun you know. It’s the 90s after all.”

                “For fun, yeah but that’s not my idea of fun,” Schneider argued.

                “They can be fun, at least I think so,” Paul said.

                “When the fuck have you gone to a fetish bar?”

                “Flake and I have gone,” he replied simply. Flake made a strange spluttering sound and his eyes went wide. “Oh, right,” Paul continued. “We made a pact to never talk about it.”

 _“What?”_ Schneider asked, now sufficiently distracted by Paul’s story. “You can’t just brush something like that off,” he insisted.

                “Oh yes we can and we’re going to,” Flake assured them both. “This isn’t about what happened when we went to the bar. And you won’t breathe a word of that to anyone else,” he said with finality.

                “Fine,” Paul reluctantly agreed. “But the snake wo-“

                “No,” Flake cut him off.

                Paul rolled his eyes before continuing again. “All right, I guess. Anyways, it’s totally normal. He strikes me as someone who would go to those places. They’re not all that bad, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

                “You keep saying he’s that type but what does that mean?”

                “Oh come off it, we all know you aren’t that naïve Doom. Do I have to spell it out for you? Look at him.”

                Schneider didn’t want to think about Oliver at all, much less his looks. Nevertheless, Paul’s words drifted through his mental block. “He’s tall, he’s attractive, all muscle …I’m willing to bet someone in that club would lick his boots clean. If he’s got that dominating air about him, people will go wild for that sort of thing.”

                Schneider felt a surge of anger, hissing at Paul to shut up through gritted teeth. He didn’t want to hear anymore, even though what Paul was saying was perfectly logical.

                “What’s the issue here anyways,” Paul questioned. “I mean, it’s not like he asked you to lick his boots did he?”

                “Seriously? He took me to a fucking fetish bar,” Schneider growled. “That’s pretty high on the list of strange dates to go on. Why the hell would you go there?”

                “Did you tell him it made you uncomfortable,” Paul asked.

                Schneider was at a loss for words. “I …” he trailed off, not wanting to share his thoughts any longer. He couldn’t tell the others how he felt, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to confront those feelings within himself right now. He turned on his heel and headed inside, retreating to his office. Once he had the door shut and locked, he sank into the piercing chair and scrubbed at his face. He was too embarrassed to explain to the others what he felt. Paul was certainly cavalier in his attitude towards the club, which was something he never expected. He wondered briefly what had happened when they went but pushed it to the back of his mind.

                He couldn’t bring himself to be so casual about something so intense and bizarre. It didn’t make any sense to him; he couldn’t imagine what sort of pleasure could be derived from something based around pain and humiliation. Oliver looked the type, according to Paul. Had he really missed something like that? Oliver never struck him as dominating before. He rested his arms against the chair, finally opening his eyes again.

                Except he had been.

                In the very same chair Schneider sat in.

                Once Schneider realized that; he sprang out of the chair and crossed the room, putting those thoughts out of his head entirely. He was already upset enough about the club and did not want to be reminded of Oliver anytime soon. He flopped into the other chair instead, thinking about what Paul and Flake had said. Had Paul been right the whole time? Or was he just overthinking everything? _(Most likely.)_

                A small part of him was laughing at the idea of Flake and Paul shuffling about in a fetish club. He would have paid to see what outfits they deemed worthy of the clubs. Then his thoughts shifted back to what Paul had said. _People go to those sorts of bars for fun you know_. Where was the fun in something like that? Then it dawned on him that Paul was completely right, that _was_ the reason Oliver brought him.  

                He was foolish not to notice it all along. Of course. They were very casual about their relationship all along and he realized that neither of them had really spoke about what they were. They had never bothered to define what was going on between them. _Was that my mistake_ , Schneider asked himself. It certainly was a valid question, he could have had the wrong impression all along. Oliver certainly seemed to have no issues with going to a fetish bar after a few weeks of seeing each other. He supposed he partly had himself to blame since he had made no moves to set any boundaries to whatever it was between them. And he felt awful about it. He had made a mistake thinking that Oliver could have been his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A wild update appears!)  
> [P.S. it's close to the end...]


End file.
